YOU, Charidemus, who my cradle swung, And watched me all the days that I was young;You, at whose step the laziest slaves awake, And both the bailiff and the butler quake;The barber's suds now blacken with my beard, And my rough kisses make the maids afeared;But with reproach your awful eyebrows twitch, And for the cane, I see, your fingers itch.
If something daintily attired I go, Straight you exclaim: "Your father did not so."And fuming, count the bottles on the board As though my cellar were your private hoard.
Enough, at last: I have done all I can, And your own mistress hails me for a man.
DE LIGURRA
YOU fear, Ligurra - above all, you long -That I should smite you with a stinging song.
This dreadful honour you both fear and hope -Both all in vain: you fall below my scope.
The Lybian lion tears the roaring bull, He does not harm the midge along the pool.
Lo! if so close this stands in your regard, From some blind tap fish forth a drunken barn, Who shall with charcoal, on the privy wall, Immortalise your name for once and all.
