  “A TREATISE OF WINE.”The following specimen of macaronic verse, from the commonplace book of Richard Hilles, who died in 1535, is probably the best of its kind extant. The scriptural allusions and the large intermixture of Latin evidently point to the refectory of some genial monastery as its source:— The best tree if ye take intent, Inter ligna fructifer, Is the vine tree by good argument, Dulcia ferens pondera. Arbor fructu noscitu, The vine beareth wine as I you tell, Hinc aliis prÆponitur. The first that planted the vineyard, Manet in coeli gaudi, His name was Noe, as I am learned, Genesis testimonio. God gave unto him knowledge and wit, A quo procedunt omni, First of the grape wine for to get, Propter magna mysteria. The first miracle that Jesus did, Erat in vino rube, In Cana of Galilee it betide, Testante Evangelio. He changed water into wine, AquÆ rubescunt hydri, And bade give it to Archetcline, Ut gustet tunc primarie. Like as the rose exceedeth all flowers, Inter cuncta floriger, So doth wine all other liquors, Dans multa salutifera. David, the prophet, saith that wine LÆtificat cor homini, It maketh men merry if it be fine, Est ergo digni nominis. It nourisheth age if it be good, Facit ut esset juveni, It gendereth in us gentle blood, Nam venas purgat sanguinis. By all these causes ye should think QuÆ sunt rationabile, That good wine should be best of all drink Inter potus potabiles. Wine drinkers all, with great honor, Semper laudate Dominu, The which sendeth the good liquor Propter salutem hominum. Donet Deus largiu, And bring them some when they go hence, Ubi non sitient amplius. THE SUITOR WITH NINE TONGUES.?? s?? ?e??, e??a????, Now that this fickle heart is won? Me semper amaturam te And never, never, never stray? HerzschÄtzchen, Du verlangst zu viel When you demand so strict a seal. N’est-ce pas assez que je t’aime Without remaining still the same? Gij daarom geeft u liefde niet If others may not have a treat. Muy largo es mi corazon, And fifty holds as well as one. Non far nell’ acqua buco che I am resolved to have my way; Im lo boteach atta bi, I’m willing quite to set you free: Be you content with half my time, As half in English is my rhyme. MAGINN’S ALTERNATIONS—HORACE, EPODE II.Blest man, who far from busy hum, Ut prisca gens mortalium, Whistles his team afield with glee Solutus omni fenore: He lives in peace, from battles free, Nec horret iratum mare; And shuns the forum, and the gay Potentiorum limina. Therefore to vines of purple gloss Altas maritat populos, Or pruning off the boughs unfit Feliciores inserit. * * * * * Alphius the usurer, babbled thus, Jam jam futurus rusticus, Called in his cast on th’Ides—but he QuÆrit Kalendis ponere. CONTENTI ABEAMUS.Come, jocund friends, a bottle bring, And push around the jorum; We’ll talk and laugh, and quaff and sing, Nunc suavium amorum. While we are in a merry mood, Come, sit down ad bibendum; And if dull care should dare intrude, We’ll to the devil send him. A moping elf I can’t endure While I have ready rhino; And all life’s pleasures centre still In venere ac vino. Be merry then, my friends, I pray, And pass your time in joco, For it is pleasant, as they say, Desipere in loco. He that loves not a young lass Is sure an arrant stultus, And he that will not take a glass Deserves to be sepultus. Pleasure, music, love and wine Res valde sunt jucundÆ, And pretty maidens look divine, Provided ut sunt mundÆ. I hate a snarling, surly fool, Qui latrat sicut canis, Who mopes and ever eats by rule, Drinks water and eats panis. Give me the man that’s always free, Qui finit molli more, The cares of life, what’er they be; Whose motto still is “Spero.” Death will turn us soon from hence, Nigerrimas ad sedes; And all our lands and all our pence Ditabunt tune heredes. Why should we then forbear to sport? Dum vivamus, vivamus, And when the Fates shall cut us down Contenti abeamus. FLY-LEAF SCRIBBLING.Iste liber pertinet, And bear it well in mind, Ad me, Johannem Rixbrum, So courteous and so kind. Quem si ego perdam, And by you it shall be found, Redde mihi iterum, Your fame I then will sound. Sed si mihi redeas, Then blessed thou shalt be, Et ago tibi gratias Whenever I thee see. THE CAT AND THE RATS.Felis sedit by a hole, Intentus he, cum omni soul, Prendere rats Mice cucurrerunt trans the floor, In numero duo, tres, or more— Obliti cats. Felis saw them, oculis; “I’ll have them,” inquit he, “I guess, Dum ludunt.” Tunc ille crept toward the group, “Habeam,” dixit, “good rat soup— Pingues sunt.” Mice continued all ludere, Intenti they in ludum vere, Gaudenter. Tunc rushed the felis into them, Et tore them omnes limb from limb, Violenter. MORAL.Mures omnes, nunc be shy, Et aurem prÆbe mihi, Benigne. Sit hoc satis—“verbum sat,” Avoid a whopping big tom-cat Studiose. POLYGLOT INSCRIPTION.The following advertisement in five languages, is inscribed on the window of a public house in Germany:— In questa casa trovarete Toutes les choses que vous souhaitez; Vinum bonum, costas, carnes, Neat post-chaise, and horse and harness. ????, ???????, ?????, ???e?. PARTING ADDRESS TO A FRIEND,Written by a German gentleman on the termination of a very agreeable, but brief acquaintance. I often wished I had a friend, Dem ich mich anvertrauen kÖnnt’, A friend in whom I could confide, Der mit mir theilte Freud und Leid; Had I the riches of Girard— Ich theilte mit ihm Haus und Heerd; For what is gold? ’tis but a passing metal, Der Henker hol’ fÜr mich den ganzen Bettel. Could I purchase the world to live in it alone, Ich gÄb’ dafÜr nicht eine hohle Bohn’; I thought one time in you I’d find that friend, Und glaubte schon mein Sehnen hÄt ein End; Alas! your friendship lasted but in sight, Doch meine grenzet an die Ewigkeit. AM RHEIN.Oh, the Rhine—the Rhine—the Rhine— Comme c’est beau! wie schÖn! che bello! He who quaffs thy Luft und Wein, Morbleu! is a lucky fellow. How I love thy rushing streams, Groves of ash and birch and hazel, From Schaffhausen’s rainbow beams Jusqu’À l’Écho d’Oberwesel! Oh, que j’aime thy BrÜchen when The crammed Dampfschiff gayly passes!— And the bronzed cheeks of thy lasses! Oh, que j’aime the “oui,” the “bah,” From thy motley crowds that flow, With the universal “ja,” And the allgemeine “so”! THE DEATH OF THE SEA SERPENT.Arma virumque cano, qui first in Monongahela Tarnally squampushed the sarpent, mittens horrentia tella. Musa, look sharp with your Banjo! I guess to relate this event, I Shall need all the aid you can give; so nunc aspirate canenti. Mighty slick were the vessels progressing, Jactata per Æquora ventis, But the brow of the skipper was sad, cum solicitudine mentis; For whales had been scarce in those parts, and the skipper, so long as he’d known her, Ne’er had gathered less oil in a cruise to gladden the heart of her owner. “Darn the whales,” cries the skipper at length, “with a telescope forte videbo Aut pisces, aut terras.” While speaking, just two or three points on the lea bow, He saw coming towards them as fast as though to a combat ’twould tempt ’em, A monstrum horrendum informe (qui lumen was shortly ademptum). On the taffrail up jumps in a hurry, dux fortis, and seizing a trumpet, Blows a blast that would waken the dead, mare turbat et aera rumpit— “Tumble up all you lubbers,” he cries, “tumble up, for careering before us Is the real old sea sarpent himself, cristis maculisque decorus.” “Consarn it,” cried one of the sailors, “if e’er we provoke him he’ll kill us, He’ll certainly chaw up hos morsu, et longis, implexibus illos.” Loud laughs the bold skipper, and quick premit alto corde dolorem; (If he does feel like running, he knows it won’t do to betray it before ’em). “O socii”, inquit. “I’m sartin you’re not the fellers to funk, or Shrink from the durem certamen, whose fathers fit bravely at Bunker You, who have waged with the bears, and the buffalo, proelia dura, Down to the freshets, and licks of our own free enlightened Missourer; You could whip your own weight, catulus sÆvis sine telo, Get your eyes skinned in a twinkling, et ponite tela phÆsello!” Talia voce refert, curisque ingentibus Æger, Marshals his cute little band, now panting their foes to beleaguer Swiftly they lower the boats, and swiftly each man at the oar is, Excipe Britanni timidi duo, virque coloris. Ovid had him in view when he said, “Nimium ne crede colori.”) Now swiftly they pull towards the monster, who seeing the cutter and gig nigh, Glares at them with terrible eyes, suffectis sanguine et igni, And, never conceiving their chief will so quickly deal him a floorer, Opens wide to receive them at once, his linguis vibrantibis ora; But just as he’s licking his lips, and gladly preparing to taste ’em, Straight into his eyeball the skipper stridentem conjicit hastam. Straight as he feels in his eyeball the lance, growing mightly sulky, At ’em he comes in a rage, ora minax, lingua trusulca. “Starn all,” cry the sailors at once, for they think he has certainly caught ’em, PrÆsentemque viris intentant omnia mortem. But the bold skipper exclaims, “O terque quaterque beati! Now with a will dare viam, when I want you, be only parati; This hoss feels like raising his hair, and in spite of his scaly old cortex, Full soon you shall see that his corpse rapidus vorat Æquore vortex.” Hoc ait, and choosing a lance: “With this one I think I shall hit it, He cries, and straight into his mouth, ad intima viscera mittit.” Screeches the creature in pain, and writhes till the sea is commotum, As if all its waves had been lashed in a tempest por Eurum et Notum. Interea terrible shindy Neptunus sensit, et alto Prospiciens sadly around, wiped his eye with the cuff of his paletÔt; And, mad at his favorite’s fate, of oaths uttered one or two thousand, Such as “Corpo di Bacco! Mehercle! Sacre! Mille Tonnerres! Potztausend!” But the skipper, who thought it was time to this terrible fight dare finem, With a scalping-knife jumps on the neck of the snake secat et dextr crinem, And hurling the scalp in the air, half mad with delight to possess it, Shouts “Darn it—I’ve fixed up his flint, for in ventos vita recessit!” |
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