Fabullus, if the gods will let you,
Before a table I will set you,
A few days hence, with welcome hearty,
To my domestic dinner-party.
That is to say--you bring the food,
(Which must be plentiful and good,)
With wine--remembering, I presume,
For one fair girl I've always room.
On these conditions you shall dine
Luxurious, boon-companion mine.
Seeing that your Catullus' purse
Has nought but cobwebs left to nurse,
I can but give you in return
The loves that undiluted burn;
And, something sweeter, neater still--
A scented unguent I'll impart,
Which Venus and her Loves distil
To please the girl that owns my heart:
Which when you smell, this boon--this solely
You'll ask the gods to recompose;
And metamorphose you, and wholly,
To one extensive Roman nose.
AQUILIUS.--What nose would a Roman wish to have? I object to Roman,
though it is not a bad one for the purpose. The metamorphosed would
certainly have a ballad written on him and sung about the streets. Write
it, and call him "The Man-mountain, or real and undoubted Promontory of
Noses."
GRATIAN.--It should seem they were like enough to feast--like their gods
they so irreverently prayed to--on the smell and the smoke only; so they
needed good noses and bad appetites. There is something a little abrupt
in the latter part, which I doubt if I like: the Loves and Graces should
not be made parties to the making of such a monster; and as _monster_ is
now-a-days all adopted adjective, follow the fashion of speech, and call
it "One extensive Monster-Nose."--Well, what next?
AQUILIUS.--A little piece of extravagant badinage. It seems Calvus
Licinius had sent Catullus a collection of miserable poems, and that,
too, on commencement of the Saturnalia, dedicated to joy, and freedom
from care and annoyance. Our author writes to complain of the malicious
present. There is some force, and a fair fling of contempt at the bad
poets of the day in it.