Short Poems

You must always be witty: 'twere better, you know,
To blend good and bad with the just so-and-so.

When a wife keeps her man under close lock and key
And herself goes wherever she will:
I think in this case every one will agree
That Jack is the lady not Jill.

Dear lady, if you read this little book,
Do not with frowns upon my jesting look.
He, your own bard, our Muse's chiefest glory,
When on Pierian trump he sang war's story,
Was not ashamed to write in playful strain—
‘If I'm no Ganymede, why here remain?’

You scrape a few hairs from the side of your head,
So that over your bare-shining baldness they spread;
But blown by the wind they return to their place
And with two big curls your poor naked poll grace.
You'ld think that we had old Silenus in sight
Between young Adonis and Hermaphrodite.
Confess your old age and leave all your head bare:
There's nothing more ugly than bald men with hair.

Before the sittings have begun
Friend Cotta into court will run,
And every judge's notice scan.
He is indeed a busy man!

You ask whose lineaments this picture shows,
Which now I deck with violet and rose.
Here stands Antonius in his youthful prime
Who thus in age still knows his manhood's time.
Ah would thus pictured we his mind could see!
No painting to the world more fair would be.

Here lies a Scots mile of a chiel,
If he 's in heaven, L—d, fill him weel!

Don't go hide in the deep mountains—
you'll only come to hate it.
Your teeth will ache with the chill of dawn water,
your face smart from the bite of the night frost.
Go off fishing and winds will blow up from the cove;
return from gathering firewood to find snow all over the cliffs.
Better come drink wine with me,
face to face get mellowly, mellowly drunk.

Don't go off and be a farmer—
you'll only make yourself miserable.
Come spring and you'll be plowing the lean soil,
twilight and it's time to feed the skinny ox.
Again and again you'll be hit for government taxes,
but seldom will you meet with a year of good crops.
Better come drink wine with me,
get quietly, quietly drunk together.

Don't go into the realm of red dust—
it wears out a person's spirit and strength.
You war with each other like the two horns of a snail,
end up with one ox-hair worth of gain.
Put out the fire that burns in your rage,
stop whetting the knife that hides in a smile.
Better come drink wine with me,
we'll lie down peacefully, merrily, merrily drunk.