CHAPTER THE FIFTY-FIFTH.

CHAPTER THE FIFTY-FIFTH.

We applauded his action and engaged in a discussion upon the instability of human affairs, which many took sides. “A good reason,” declared Trimalchio, “why such an occasion shouldn’t slip by without an epigram.” He called for his tablets at once, and after racking his brains for a little while, he got off the following:

                The unexpected will turn up;
                Our whole lives Fortune bungles up.
                Falernian, boy, hand round the cup.

This epigram led up to a discussion of the poets, and for a long time, the greatest praise was bestowed upon Mopsus the Thracian, until Trimalchio broke in with: “Professor, I wish you’d tell me how you’d compare Cicero and Publilius. I’m of the opinion that the first was the more eloquent, but that the last moralizes more beautifully, for what can excel these lines?

 Insatiable luxury crumbles the walls of war;
 To satiate gluttony, peacocks in coops are brought
 Arrayed in gold plumage like Babylon tapestry rich.
 Numidian guinea-fowls, capons, all perish for thee:
 And even the wandering stork, welcome guest that he is,
 The emblem of sacred maternity, slender of leg
 And gloctoring exile from winter, herald of spring,
 Still, finds his last nest in the--cauldron of gluttony base.
 India surrenders her pearls; and what mean they to thee?
 That thy wife decked with sea-spoils adorning her breast
      and her head
 On the couch of a stranger lies lifting adulterous legs?
 The emerald green, the glass bauble, what mean they to thee?
 Or the fire of the ruby?  Except that pure chastity shine
 From the depth of the jewels: in garments of woven wind clad
 Our brides might as well take their stand, their game
      naked to stalk,
 As seek it in gossamer tissue transparent as air.”