Macaronic verse is properly a system of Latin inflections joined to words of a modern vernacular, such as English, French, German, &c.; some writers, however, choose to disregard the strictness of this definition, and consider everything macaronic which is written with the aid of more than one language or dialect. Dr. Geddes (born 1737; died 1802), considered one of the greatest of English macaronic writers, says: “It is the characteristic of a Macaronic poem to be written in Latin hexameters; but so as to admit occasionally vernacular words, either in their native form, or with a Latin inflection—other licenses, too, are allowed in the measure of the lines, contrary to the strict rules of prosody.” Broad enough reservations these, of which Dr. Geddes in his own works was not slow in availing himself, and as will be seen in the specimens given, his example has been well followed, for the strict rule that an English macaronic should consist of the vernacular made classical with Latin terminations has been as much honoured in the breach as in the observance. Another characteristic in macaronics is that these poems recognise no law in orthography, etymology, syntax, or prosody. The examples which here follow are confined exclusively to those which have their basis, so to speak, in the English language, and, with the exception of a few of the earlier ones, the majority of the selections in this volume have their origin in our own times.

“The earliest collection of English Christmas carols supposed to have been published,” says Hone’s “Every Day Book,” “is only known from the last leaf of a volume printed by Wynkyn Worde in 1521. There are two carols upon it: ‘A Carol of Huntynge’ is reprinted in the last edition of Juliana Berners’ ‘Boke of St. Alban’s;’ the other, ‘A carol of bringing in the Bore’s Head,’ is in Dibdin’s edition of ‘Ames,’ with a copy of the carol as it is now sung in Queen’s College, Oxford, every Christmas Day.” Dr. Bliss of Oxford printed a few copies of this for private circulation, together with Anthony Wood’s version of it. The version subjoined is from a collection imprinted at London, “in the Poultry, by Richard Kele, dwelling at the long shop vnder Saynt Myldrede’s Chyrche,” about 1546:

A Carol Bringing in the Bore’s Head.

“Caput apri defero Reddens laudes Domino. The bore’s heed in hande bring I, With garlands gay and rosemary, I pray you all synge merelye Qui estis in convivio. The bore’s heed I understande Is the thefte service in this lande, Take wherever it be fande, Servite cum cantico. Be gladde lordes both more and lasse, For this hath ordeyned our stewarde, To cheere you all this Christmasse, The bore’s heed with mustarde. Caput apri defero Reddens laudes Domino.”

Another version of the last verse is:

“Our steward hath provided this In honour of the King of Bliss: Which on this clay to be served is, In Regimensi Atrio. Caput apri defero Reddens laudes Domino.”

Skelton, who was the poet-laureate about the end of the fifteenth century, has in his “Boke of Colin Clout,” and also in that of “Philip Sparrow,” much macaronic verse, as in “Colin Clout,” when he is speaking of the priests of those days, he says:

“Of suche vagabundus Speaking totus mundus, How some syng let abundus, At euerye ale stake With welcome hake and make, By the bread that God brake, I am sory for your sake. I speake not of the god wife But of their apostles lyfe, Cum ipsis vel illis Qui manent in villis Est uxor vel ancilla, Welcome Jacke and Gilla, My prety Petronylla, An you wil be stilla You shall haue your willa, Of such pater noster pekes All the world speakes,” &c.

In Harsnett’s “Detection” are some curious lines, being a curse for “the miller’s eeles that were stolne”:

“All you that stolne the miller’s eeles, Laudate dominum de coelis, And all they that have consented thereto, Benedicamus domino.”

In “Literary Frivolities” there was a notice of and quotation from Ruggles’ jeu d’esprit of “Ignoramus,” and here follows a short scene from this play, containing a humorous burlesque of the old Norman Law-Latin, in which the elder brethren of the legal profession used to plead, and in which the old Reporters come down to the Bar of to-day—if, indeed, that venerable absurdity can be caricatured. It would be rather difficult to burlesque a system that provided for a writ de pip vini carriand—that is, “for negligently carrying a pipe of wine!”

The following song by O’Keefe, is a mixture of English, Latin, and nonsense:

“Amo, amas, I love a lass, As cedar tall and slender; Sweet cowslip’s grace Is her nominative case, And she’s of the feminine gender. Chorus. Rorum, corum, sunt di-vorum, Harum, scarum, divo; Tag-rag, merry-derry, periwig and hatband, Hic, hoc, horum genitivo. Can I decline a nymph so divine? Her voice like a flute is dulcis; Her oculus bright, her manus white And soft, when I tacto her pulse is. Chorus. O how bella, my puella I’ll kiss in secula seculorum; If I’ve luck, sir, she’s my uxor, O dies benedictorum.” Chorus.

Of the many specimens written by the witty and versatile Dr. Maginn we select this one

The Second Epode of Horace.

“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, Neq’ horret irratÚm mare; And shuns the forum, and the gay Potentiorum limina, Therefore to vines of purple gloss Atlas maritat populos. Or pruning off the boughs unfit Feliciores inserit; Or, in a distant vale at ease Prospectat errantes greges; Or honey into jars conveys Aut tondet infirmas oves. When his head decked with apples sweet Auctumnus agris extulit, At plucking pears he’s quite au fait Certant, et uvam purpurÆ. Some for Priapus, for thee some Sylvare, tutor finium! Beneath an oak ’tis sweet to be Mod’ in tenaci gramine: The streamlet winds in flowing maze Queruntur in silvis aves; The fount in dulcet murmur plays Somnos quod invitet leves. But when winter comes, (and that Imbres nivesque comparat,) With dogs he forces oft to pass Apros in obstantes plagas; Or spreads his nets so thick and close Turdis edacibus dolos; Or hares, or cranes, from far away Jucunda captat prÆmia: The wooer, love’s unhappy stir, HÆc inter obliviscitur, His wife can manage without loss Domum et parvos liberos; (Suppose her Sabine, or the dry Pernicis uxor Appali,) Who piles the sacred hearthstone high Lassi sub adventÚm viri, And from his ewes, penned lest they stray, Distenta siccet ubera; And this year’s wine disposed to get Dapes inemtas apparet. Oysters to me no joys supply, Magisve rhombus, aut scari, (If when the east winds boisterous be Hiems ad hoc vertat mare;) Your Turkey pout is not to us, Non attagen Ionicus, So sweet as what we pick at home Oliva ramis arborum! Or sorrel, which the meads supply, MalvÆ salubres corpori— Or lamb, slain at a festal show Vel hÆdus ereptus lupo. Feasting, ’tis sweet the creature’s dumb, Videre prop’rantes domum, Or oxen with the ploughshare go, Collo trahentes languido; And all the slaves stretched out at ease, Circum renidentes Lares! Alphius the usurer, babbled thus, Jam jam futurus rusticus, Called in his cast on th’ Ides—but he QuÆrit Kalendis ponere!”

There is a little bit by Barham (“Ingoldsby Legends”) which is worthy of insertion:

“What Horace says is Eheu fugaces Anni labuntur, Postume! Postume! Years glide away and are lost to me—lost to me! Now when the folks in the dance sport their merry toes, Taglionis and Ellslers, Duvernays and Ceritos, Sighing, I murmured, ‘O mihi pretÆritos!’”

The following bright carmen Macaronicum appeared in an American periodical in 1873:

Rex Midas.

“Vivit a rex in Persia land, A potens rex was he; Suum imperium did extend O’er terra and o’er sea. Rex Midas habuit multum gold, Tamen he wanted plus; ‘Non satis est,’ his constant cry— Ergo introit fuss. Silenus was inebrius,— Id est, was slightly tight, As he went vagus through the urbs, It was a tristis sight. Rex Midas equitavit past On suum dromedary, Vidit Silenus on his spree, Sic lÆtus et sic merry. His costume was a wreath of leaves, And those were multum battered; Urchins had stoned him, and the ground Cum lachrymis was scattered. Rex Midas picked hunc senem up, And put him on his pony, Et bore him ad castellum grand Quod cost him multum money. Dedit Silenum mollem care: Cum Bacchus found his ubi Promisit Midas quod he asked. Rex Midas fuit—booby. For aurum was his gaudium, Rogavit he the favour Ut quid he touched might turn to gold; Ab this he’d nunquam never. Carpsit arose to try the charm, Et in eodem minute It mutat into flavum gold, Ridet as spectat in it. His filia rushed to meet her sire, He osculavit kindly; She lente stiffened into gold— Vidit he’d acted blindly. Spectavit on her golden form, And in his brachia caught her: ‘Heu me! sed tamen breakfast waits, My daughter, oh! my daughter!’ Venit ad suum dining-hall, Et coffeam gustavit, Liquatum gold his fauces burned,— Loud he vociferavit: ‘Triste erat amittere My solam filiam true, Pejus to lose my pabulam. Eheu! Eheu!! Eheu!!!’ Big lachrymÆ bedewed his cheeks— ‘O potens Bacchus lazy, Prende ab me the power you gave, Futurum, ut I’ll praise thee.’ Benignus Bacchus audiens groans, Misertus est our hero; Dixit ut the Pactolian waves Ab hoc would cleanse him—vero. Infelix rex was felix then, Et cum hilarious grin, Ruit unto the river’s bank, Et fortis plunged in. The nefas power was washed away; Sed even at this hour Pactolus’ sands are tinged with gold, Testes of Bacchus’ power. A tristis sed a sapiens vir Rex Midas fuit then; Et gratus to good Bacchus said, ‘Non feram sic again.’ HÆc fable docet, plain to see, Quamquam the notion’s old, Hoc verum est, ut girls and grub Much melior sunt than gold.”

The following well-known lines are from the “Comic Latin Grammar,” a remarkably clever and curious work, full of quaint illustrations:

“Patres conscripti—took a boat and went to Philippi. Trumpeter unus erat qui coatum scarlet habebat, Stormum surgebat, et boatum overset—ebat, Omnes drownerunt, quia swimaway non potuerunt, Excipe John Periwig tied up to the tail of a dead pig.”

A Treatise on Wine.

“The best tree, if ye take intent, Inter ligna fructifera, Is the vine tree by good argument, Dulcia ferens pondera. Saint Luke saith in his Gospel, Arbor fructu noscitur, The vine beareth wine as I you tell, Hinc aliis prÆponitur. The first that planted the vineyard Manet in coelio gaudio, His name was Noe, as I am learned Genesis testimonio. God gave unto him knowledge and wit, A quo procedunt omnia, First of the grape wine for to get Propter magna mysteria. The first miracle that Jesus did, Erat in vino rubeo, In Cana of Galilee it betide Testante Evangelio. He changed water into wine AquÆ rubescunt hydriÆ, And bade give it to Archetcline, Ut gustet tunc primarie. Like as the rose exceedeth all flowers, Inter cuncta florigera, So doth wine all other liquors, Dans multa salutifera. David, the prophet, saith that wine LÆtificat cor hominis, It maketh men merry if it be fine, Est ergo digni nominis. It nourisheth age if it be good, Facit ut esset juvenis, It gendereth in us gentle blood, Nam venas purgat sanguinis. By all these causes, ye should think QuÆ sunt rationabiles, That good wine should be the best of drink, Inter potus potabiles. Wine drinkers all, with great honour, Semper laudate Dominum, The which sendeth the good liquor Propter salutem hominum. Plenty to all that love good wine Donet Deus larguis, And bring them some when they go hence, Ubi non sitient amplius.” —Richard Hilles (1535).

The two which follow are identical in theme, and show that the wags and wits of about thirty years ago were busy poking their fun at what was then their latest sensation, much as they do now. They both treat of the Sea-serpent; the first being from an American source:

The Sea-Serpent.

“Sed tempus necessit, and this was all over, Cum illi successit another gay rover, Nam cum navigaret, in his own cutter Portentum apparet, which made them all flutter. Est horridus anguis which they behold; Haud dubio sanguis within them ran cold; Trigenta pedes his head was upraised Et corporis sedes in secret was placed. Sic serpens manebat, so says the same joker, Et sese ferebat as stiff as a poker; Tergum fricabat against the old lighthouse; Et sese liberabat of scaly detritus. Tunc plumbo percussit, thinking he hath him, At serpens exsiluit full thirty fathom; Exsiluit mare with pain and affright, Conatus abnare as fast as he might. Neque illi secuti—no, nothing so rash, Terrore sunt multi, he’d make such a splash, Sed nunc adierunt, the place to inspect, Et squamus viderunt, the which they collect. Quicunque non credat aut doubtfully rails Ad locum accedat, they’ll show him the scales, Quas, sola trophÆa, they brought to the shore,— Et causa est ea they couldn’t get more.”

The Death of the Sea-Serpent.

BY PUBLIUS JONATHAN VIRGILIUS JEFFERSON SMITH.

“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,’ cried the skipper at length, with a telescope forte videbo Aut pisces, aut terras. While speaking, just two or three points on the lee bow, He saw coming toward 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 Æra 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, who could whip your own weight, catulis 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 foe to beleaguer. Swiftly they lower the boats, and swiftly each man at the oar is, Excipe Britanni timidi duo, virque coloris. (Blackskin, you know, never feels how sweet ’tis pro patri mori; 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 mightily 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 millit, Screeches the creature in pain, and writhes till the sea is commotum, As if all its waves had been lashed in a tempest per 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 favourite’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!’” —Punch.

St. George et His Dragon.

“HÆc fabulam’s one of those stories, Which the Italians say, ‘ought to be true,’ Sed which modern wiseacres have scattered Among les Illusions Perdus! St. George eques errans erat Qui vibrat a seven-foot sword, Und er wÜrde eher be all up a tree, Than be caught a-breaking his word. Assuetus au matin to ride out Pour chercher quelquechose for to lick, Cap À pie en harness—and to see him Whack a rusticus pauvre was chic. Perequitat thousands of peasants, Et mantled in armour complete— CÆdat the whole huddle confestim Et could make them ausgespielt. Si ce n’est que, sans doute, they were willing, To get up and solemnly swear That the very last Fraulein he’d seen was La plus belle dans tout la terre. Ein Morgen he saw À le trottoir Puella formosissima trÈs Implicans amplexus DraconÆ, So she couldn’t get out of his way. The dragon—donc voilÀ le tableau! Had eyes sanguine suffectis AlÆ comme les lutins in ‘Paradise Lost,’ Et was, on the whole, insuavis. For BeautÉ miserable was there ever Eques who would not do and die? St. George his hastam projecit Right into the dragon—his eye! Il coupe sa tÊte mit sein Schwert gut— Ses ailes, il coupe mit sein couteau Il coupe sa queu mit his hache des arms, Et la demoiselle let go. In genua procumbit the ladye, Et dixit, ‘You’ve saved my life— Pour toute ma vie I’m your’n,’ said she, ‘I’m your regular little wife.’ ‘M’ami,’ says he, ‘I does these jobs In jocum—get up from your knees, Would you offer outright to requite a knight? Mon garÇon, he takes the fees!’” —J. A. M.

The Polka.

“Qui nunc dancere vult modo, Wants to dance in the fashion, oh! Discere debit ought to know, Kickere floor cum heel and toe. One, two, three Come hop with me— Whirligig, twirligig, rapidee. Polkam, jungere, Virgo vis? Will you join in the polka, miss? Liberius, most willingly, Sic agemus, then let us try. Nunc vide, Skip with me. Whirlabout, roundabout, celere. Tum lÆva cito tum dextra, First to the left, then t’other way; Aspice retro in vultu, You look at her, she looks at you. Das palmam, Change hands, ma’am, Celere, run away, just in sham.” —Gilbert Abbot A’Becket.

Clubbis Noster.

“Sunt quidam jolly dogs, Saturday qui nocte frequentant, Antiqui Stephanon, qui stat prope moenia Drury, Where they called for saccos cum prog distendere bellies, Indulgere jocis, nec non Baccho atque tobacco; In mundo tales non fellows ante fuere Magnanionam heroum celebrabe carmine laudeo, PosthÆ illustres ut vivant omne per Ævum, Altior en Stephano locus est, snug, cosy recessus, Hic quarters fixere suos, conclave tenet hic, Hic dapibus cumulata, hic mahogany mensa, Pascuntur varies, roast beef cum pudding of Yorkshire, Interdum, sometimes epulis quis nomen agrestes Boiled leg of mutton and trimmings imposuere Hic double X haurit, Barclay and Perkins ille. Sic erimus drunki, Deel care! aras dat mendicinum Nec desuit mixtis que sese polibus implent. Quus ‘offnoff’ omnes consuescunt dicere waiters. Postquam, exempta fames grubbo mappaque remota. Pro cyathio clarmet, qui goes sermone vocantur. Vulgari, of whiskey, rum, gin and brandy, sed ut sunt; Coelicolumqui punch (‘erroribus absque’) liquore Gaudent; et panci vino quod proebet Opporto, Quod certi black-strap dicunt nicknomine Graii, Haustibus his pipe, communis et adjiciuntur, Shag, Reditus, CubÆ, SilvÆ, Cheroots et HavanÆ, ‘Festina viri,’ bawls one, ‘nunc ludito verbis,’ Alter ‘Foemineum sexum’ propinquat et ‘Hurrah!’ Respondet pot house concessu plausibus omni. Nunc similes, veteri versantur winky lepores Omnibus exiguus nec. Jingoteste tumultus, Exoritur quoniam summÂ, nituntur opum vi Rivales ????? top sawyers’ ?e?a? ????, Est genus injenui lusÛs quod nomine Burking. Notem est, vel Burko, qui claudere cuncta solebat Ora olim, eloquio, pugili vel forsitan isto Deaf un, vel Burko pueros qui Burxit ad illud, Plausibus aut fictis joculatorem excipiendo, Aut bothering aliquid referentem, constat amicum. Hoc parvo excutitur multus conamine risus. Nomina magnorum referebam nunc pauca viorum, Marcus et Henricus Punchi duo lumina magna (Whacks his Aristoteleam, Sophoclem, Brown wollopeth ille) In clubbum adveniunt, Juvenalis et advenit acer Qui veluti Paddywhack for love conlundit amicos; Ingentesque animos non parvo in corpore versans Tullius; et Matutini qui Sidus Heraldi est Georgius; Albertus Magnus; vesterque poeta. PrÆsidet his Nestor qui tempore vixit in annÆ, Credetur et vidisse Jophet, non youngster at ullos. In chaff, audaci certamine, vinceret illum, Ille jocus mollit dictis, et pectora mulcet, Ni faciat tumblers, et goes, et pocula pewter, Quippe Aliorum alii jactarent forsan in aures.” —Punch.

Little Red Riding Hood.

“You ask me to tell you the story Of the terrible atra wood, Of the Lupi diri, ???? pa?, ?a? parvula Red Riding Hood. Patruus trux, he gave her A deux larrons pravi; Et dear little robins came and Cut up cum the folii. And then he scandit Beanstalk, And giant cÆdit tall Et virgo grandis marri-ed Et Rem is prodegit all! For, semble, une felis was left him— (Seulement, calamitas!) Il emit chat zwei ocreÆ Et was Marquis de Carrabas! ?a? ?e? de lady et Ursus (You’ve heard this much, at least), Et foemina on l’appÈle BeautÉ, And the Beast they called A Beast! Obdormivit, et amittit Ses moutons and couldn’t find ’em, So she never did nothing whatever at all, Et voila! cum caudis behind ’em! Comme des toutes les demoiselles charmantes IllÆ the only lass Who could yank her foot nitide Dans le pantoufle de glass! Et straw she nevit in auribus, Et finally—child did win De expiscere Arcanum name Nami erat Rumplestiltzskin! ????e ???ade ???? pa?: Ciel! c’est time you should! Ad lectum to dream of the story Of little Red Riding Hood!” —J. A. M.

“Ich bin Dein.”

“In tempus old a hero lived, Qui loved puellas deux; He ne pouvait pas quite to say Which one amabat mieux. Dit-il lui-meme, un beau matin, ‘Non possum both avoir, Sed si address Amanda Ann, Then Kate and I have war. ‘Amanda habet argent coin, Sed Kate has aureas curls: Et both sunt very ??a??, Et quite formosa girls. Enfin, the youthful anthropos, F????? the duo maids, Resolved proponere ad Kate Devant cet evening’s shades. Procedens then to Kate’s domo, Il trouve Amanda there; ?a? quite forgot his good resolves, Both sunt so goodly fair. Sed, smiling on the new tapis, Between puellas twain, Coepit to tell his flame to Kate Dans un poetique strain. Mais, glancing ever and anon At fair Amanda’s eyes, IllÆ non possunt dicere, Pro which he meant his sighs. Each virgo heard the demi vow With cheeks as rouge as wine, And offering each a milk-white hand, Both whispered, ‘Ich bin dein!’”

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 jocundÆ, 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, whate’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 tunc heredes. Why should we then forbear to sport? Dum vivamus, vivamus, And when the Fates shall cut us down, Contenti abeamus.”

De Leguleio.

“Jurisconsultus juvenis solus, Sat scanning his tenuem docket— Volo, quoth he, some bonus Æolus Inspiret fees to my pocket. He seized in manua sinistra ejus A tome of Noy, or Fortescue; Here’s a case, said he, terrible tedious— Fortuna veni to my rescue! Lex scripta’s nought but legal diluvium, Defluxum streams of past ages, And lawyers sit like ducks in a pluvium, Under Law’s reigning adages. Lex non scripta’s good for consciences tender, Persequi the light internal; Sed homines sÆpius homage render Ad lucem that burns infernal. Effodi the said diluvium over, As do all legal beginners, Et crede vivere hence in clover, That’s sown by quarrelsome sinners. Some think the law esse hum scarabeum, And lawyers a useless evil, And Statute claim of tuum and meum Is but a device of the devil; Sed pravi homines sunt so thick that, Without restrictio legis, Esset crime plusquam one could shake stick at, By order diaboli regis. Et good men, rari gurgite vasto, Are digni the law’s assistance, Defendere se, et aid them so as to Keep nefas et vim at a distance. The lawyer’s his client’s rights’ defender, And bound laborare astute, Videre that quÆquÆ res agenda Dignitate et virtute. Sed ecce! a case exactly ad punctum— Id scribam, ante forget it, Negotium illud nunc perfunctum, Feliciter, I have met it. He thrust out dextrÆ digitos manus, His pennam ad ink ille dedit; Et scripsit,—but any homo sanus Would be nonsuit ere he could read it.” —A. B. Ely.

Chanson without Music.

BY THE PROFESSOR EMERITUS OF DEAD AND LIVING LANGUAGES.

“You bid me sing—can I forget The classic odes of days gone by— How belle Fifine and jeune Lisette Exclaimed, ‘Anacreon ?e??? ???’ ‘Regardez donc,’ those ladies said— ‘You’re getting bald and wrinkled too: When Summer’s roses are all shed, Love’s nullum ite, voyez vous!’ In vain ce brave Anacreon’s cry, ‘Of love alone my banjo sings’ (???ta ?????). ‘Etiam si,— Eh bien?’ replied those saucy things— ‘Go find a maid whose hair is grey, And strike your lyre—we shan’t complain; But parce nobis, s’il vous plait,— Voila Adolphe! Voila Eugene!’ Ah, jeune Lisette! ah, belle Fifine! Anacreon’s lesson all must learn: ? ?a???? ????; Spring is green, But acer Hiems waits his turn! I hear you whispering from the dust, ‘Tiens, mon cher, c’est toujours so,— The brightest blade grows dim with rust, The fairest meadow white with snow!’ You do not mean it? Not encore? Another string of play-day rhymes? You’ve heard me—nonne est?—before, Multoties,—more than twenty times; Non possum—vraiment—pas du tout, I cannot, I am loath to shirk; But who will listen if I do, My memory makes such shocking work? G????s??. Scio. Yes, I’m told Some ancients like my rusty lay, As Grandpa Noah loved the old Red-sandstone march of Jubal’s day. I used to carol like the birds, But time my wits have quite unfixed, Et quoad verba—for my words— Ciel!—Eheu!—Whe-ew! how they’re mixed! Mehercle! ?e?. Diable! how My thoughts were dressed when I was young. But tempus fugit—see them now Half clad in rags of every tongue! ? F????, fratres, chers amis! I dare not court the youthful muse, For fear her sharp response should be— ‘Papa Anacreon, please excuse!’ Adieu! I’ve trod my annual track How long!—let others count the miles— And peddled out my rhyming pack To friends who always paid in smiles; So laissez moi! some youthful wit No doubt has wares he wants to show, And I am asking ‘let me sit’ Dum ille clamat “??? p?? st?.” —Dr. Holmes, Atlantic Monthly, Nov. 1867.

During the late American Civil War, Slidell and Mason, two of the Confederate Commissioners, were taken by an admiral of the U.S. navy from a British ship, and this came near causing an issue between the two countries. Seward was the American premier at the time. This is that affair done up in a macaronic:

Slidell and Mason.

“Slidell, qui est Rerum cantor Publicarum, atque Lincoln. Vir excelsior, mitigantur— A delightful thing to think on! Blatant plebs Americanum, Quite impossible to bridle, Nihil refert, navis cana Bring back Mason atque Slidell. Scribat nunc amoene Russell; LÆtus lapis claudit fiscum, Nunc finiter all this bustle— Slidell—Mason—Pax vobiscum!”

A Valentine.

“Geist und sinn mich beutzen Über Vous zu dire das ich sie liebÉ? Das herz que vous so lightly spurn To you und sie allein will turn Unbarmherzig—pourquoir scorn Mon coeur with love and anguish torn; Croyez vous das my despair Votre bonheur can swell or faire? SchÖnheit kann nicht cruel sein Mefris ist kein macht divine, Then, oh then, it can’t be thine. Glaube das mine love is true, Changeless, deep wie Himmel’s blue— Que l’amour that now I swear, Zue dir ewigkeit I’ll bear Glaube das de gentle rays, Born and nourished in thy gaze, Sur mon coeur will ever dwell Comme À l’instant when they fell— Mechante! that you know full well.”

Very Felis-itous.

“Felis sedit by a hole, Intente she, cum omni soul, Predere rats. Mice cucurrerunt trans the floor, In numero duo tres or more, Obliti cats. Felis saw them oculis, ‘I’ll have them,’ inquit she, ‘I guess, Dum ludunt.’ Tunc illa crepit toward the group, ‘Habeam,’ dixit, ‘good rat soup— Pingues sunt.’ Mice continued all ludere, Intenti they in ludum vere, Gaudeuter. 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: Sic hoc satis—“verbum sat,” Avoid a whopping Thomas cat Studiose.” —Green Kendrick.

Ce Meme Vieux Coon.

“Ce meme vieux coon n’est pas quite mort, Il n’est pas seulement napping: Je pense, myself, unless j’ai tort Cette chose est yet to happen. En dix huit forty-four, je sais, Vous’ll hear des curious noises; He’ll whet ces dents against some Clay, Et scare des Loco—Bois-es! You know que quand il est awake, Et quand il scratch ces clawses, Les Locos dans leurs souliers shake, Et, sheepish, hang leurs jaws-es. Ce meme vieux coon, je ne sais pas why, Le mischief’s come across him, Il fait believe he’s going to die, Quand seulement playing possum. Mais wait till nous le want encore, Nous’ll stir him with une pole; He’ll bite as mauvais as before Nous pulled him de son hole!” —Relic of Henry Clay Campaign of 1844.

Malum Opus.

“Prope ripam fluvii solus A senex silently sat; Super capitem ecce his wig, Et wig super, ecce his hat. Blew Zephyrus alte, acerbus, Dum elderly gentleman sat; Et a capite took up quite torve Et in rivum projecit his hat. Tunc soft maledixit the old man, Tunc stooped from the bank where he sat, Et cum scipio poked in the water, Conatus servare his hat. Blew Zephyrus alte, acerbus, The moment it saw him at that; Et whisked his novum scratch wig In flumen, along with his hat. Ab imo pectore damnavit In coeruleus eye dolor sat; Tunc despairingly threw in his cane Nare cum his wig and his hat. L’ENVOI. Contra bonos mores, don’t swear, It est wicked, you know (verbum sat), Si this tale habet no other moral, Mehercle! you’re gratus to that!” —J. A. M.

Carmen ad Terry.

(WRITTEN WHILE GENERAL TERRY, U.S.A., WITH HIS BLACK SOLDIERS, WAS IN COMMAND
AT RICHMOND, VIRGINIA, AFTER ITS EVACUATION BY THE CONFEDERATE TROOPS.)

“Terry, leave us, sumus weary: Jam nos tÆdet te videre, Si vis nos with joy implere, Terry in hac terra tarry, Diem nary. For thy domum long’st thou nonne? Habes wife et filios bonny? Socios Afros magis ton-y? Haste thee, Terry, mili-terry, Pedem ferre. Forte Thaddeus may desire thee, Sumner, et id. om., admire thee, Nuisance nobis, not to ire thee, We can spare thee, magne Terry, Freely, very. Hear the Prex’s proclamation, Nos fideles to the nation, Gone est nunc thy place and station Terry-sier momen-terry Sine query. Yes, thy doom est scriptum—‘Mene,’ Longer ne nos naso tene, Thou hast dogged us, diu bene, Loose us, terrible bull terry-er, We’ll be merrier. But the dulces Afros, vale, Pompey, Scipio et Sally, Seek some back New Haven alley, Terry, quit this territory Con amore. Sed verbum titi, abituro, Pay thy rent-bills, et conjuro, Tecum take thy precious bureau Terry, Turner, blue-coat hom’nes Abhinc omnes!” —Horace Milton.

Lydia Green.

“In Republican Jersey, There nunquam was seen Puella pulchrior, Ac Lydia Green; Fascinans quam bellis Vel lilium, et id., Et Jacobus Brown Was ‘ladles’[7] on Lyd. Ad Jacobum Brown Semel Lydia, loquitur: ‘Si fidem violaris, I’d lay down and die, sir.’ ‘Si my Lydia dear I should ever forget’— Tum respondit: ‘I hope To be roasted and ate.’ Sed, though Jacob had sworn Pro aris et focis, He went off and left Lydia Deserta, lachrymosis. In lachrymis solvis She sobbed and she sighed; And at last, corde fracta, Turned over and died. Tunc Jacobus Brown, Se expedire pains That gnawed his chords cordis, Went out on the plains, And quum he got there. ?? ???a??? met him, Accenderunt ignem Et roasted et ate him.” —J. A. M.

Am Rhein.

“Oh the Rhine, the Rhine, the Rhine— Comme c’est beau! wie schÖn, che bello! He who quaffs thy Lust and Wein, Morbleu! is a lucky fellow. How I love thy rushing streams, Groves and ash and birch and hazel, From Schaffhausen’s rainbow beams Jusqu’À l’echo d’Oberwesel! Oh, que j’aime thy BrÜchen, when The crammed Dampfschiff gaily passes! Love the bronzed pipes of thy men, And the bronzed cheeks of thy lasses! Oh! que j’aime the ‘oui,’ the ‘bah!’ From the motley crowd that flow, With the universal ‘ja,’ And the Allgemeine ‘so!’”

“Serve-um-Right.”

“‘Eh! dancez-vous?’ dixit Mein Herr. ‘Oui, oui!’ the charming maid replied: Vidit ille at once the snare, Looked downas quick, et etiam sighed. Das MÄdchen knew each bona art Stat ludicrans superba sweet; Simplex homo perdit his heart Declares eros ad ejus feet. ‘Mein Liebchen,’ here exclaims de Herr, ‘Lux of mein life, ein rayum shed, Dein oscula let amor share, Si non, alas! meum be dead.’ Ludit das girlus gaily then, Cum scorna much upon her lip: Quid stultuses sunt all you men, Funus to give you omnes slip. Mein Herr uprose cum dignas now, Et melius et wiser man, Der nubis paina on his brow, To his dark domus cito ran. Nunc omnes you qui eager hear Meas tell of cette falsa maid, Of fascinatus girl beware Lest votre folly sic be paid.”

To a Friend at Parting.

“I often wished I had a friend, Dem ich mich anvertraun 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’, dÄfur nich eine noble 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.”

Ad Professorem LinguÆ GermanicÆ.

“Oh why now sprechen Sie Deutsch? What pleasure say can Sie haben? You cannot imagine how much You bother unfortunate Knaben. Liebster Freund! give bessere work, Nicht so hard, ein kurtzerer lesson, Oh then we will nicht try to shirk Und unser will geben Sie blessin’. Oh, ask us nicht now to decline ‘Meines Bruders grÖssere HÄuser;’ ‘Die Fasser’ of ‘alt rother Wein’ Can give us no possible joy, sir. Der MÜller may tragen ein Rock Eat schwartz Brod und dem KÄsÈ, Die Gans may be hÄngen on hoch, But what can it matter to me, sir? Return zu Ihr own native tongue, Leave Dutch und Sauer Kraut to the Dutchmen; And seek not to teach to the young The Sprache belonging to such men. Und now ’tis my solemn belief That if you nicht grant this petition, Sie must schreiben mein Vater ein Brief, To say that ich hab’ ein Condition.’” —Yale Courant.

Pome of a Possum.

“The nox was lit by lux of Luna, And ’twas nox most opportuna To catch a possum or a coona; For nix was scattered o’er this mundus, A shallow nix, et non profundus. On sic a nox with canis unus, Two boys went out to hunt for coonus. Unis canis, duo puer, Nunquam braver, nunquam truer, Quam hoc trio unquam fuit, If there was I never knew it. The corpus of this bonus canis, Was full as long as octo span is, But brevior legs had canis never Quam had hic dog; et bonus clever Some used to say, in stultum jocum, Quod a field was too small locum For sic a dog to make a turnus Circum self from stem to sternus. This bonus dog had one bad habit, Amabat much to tree a rabbit— Amabat plus to chase a rattus, Amabat bene tree a cattus. But on this nixy moonlight night, This old canis did just right. Nunquam treed a starving rattus, Nunquam chased a starving cattus, But cucurrit on, intentus On the track and on the scentus, Till he treed a possum strongum, In a hollow trunkum longum; Loud he barked, in horrid bellum, Seemed on terra venit pellum; Quickly ran the duo puer, Mors of possum to secure; Quum venerit, one began To chop away like quisque man; Soon the axe went through the truncum, Soon he hit it all kerchunkum; Combat deepens; on ye braves! Canis, pueri et staves; As his powers non longuis tarry, Possum potest non pugnare, On the nix his corpus lieth, Down to Hades spirit flieth, Joyful pueri, canis bonus, Think him dead as any stonus. Now they seek their pater’s domo, Feeling proud as any homo, Knowing, certe, they will blossom Into heroes, when with possum They arrive, narrabunt story, Plenus blood et plenior glory. Pompey, David, Samson, CÆsar, Cyrus, Blackhawk, Shalmaneser! Tell me where est now the gloria, Where the honours of Victoria? Quum ad domum narrent story, Plenus sanguine, tragic, gory. Pater praiseth, likewise mater, Wonders greatly younger frater. Possum leave they on the mundus, Go themselves to sleep profundus, Somniunt possums slain in battle, Strong as ursÆ, large as cattle. When nox gives way to lux of morning— Albam terram much adorning,— Up they jump to see the varmen, Of the which this is the carmen. Lo! possum est resurrectum! Ecce pueri dejectum. Ne relinquit track behind him, Et the pueri never find him. Cruel possum! bestia vilest, How the pueros thou beguilest; Pueri think non plus of CÆsar, Go ad Orcum, Shalmaneser, Take your laurels, cum the honour, Since ista possum is a goner!”

The following “Society Verses” of Mortimer Collins are given here by way of introducing an imitation of them in macaronic verse:

Ad Chloen, M.A.

(FRESH FROM HER CAMBRIDGE EXAMINATION.)

“Lady, very fair are you, And your eyes are very blue, And your nose; And your brow is like the snow; And the various things you know Goodness knows. And the rose-flush on your cheek, And your Algebra and Greek Perfect are; And that loving lustrous eye Recognises in the sky Every star. You have pouting, piquant lips, You can doubtless an eclipse Calculate; But for your cerulean hue, I had certainly from you Met my fate. If by an arrangement dual I were Adams mixed with Whewell, The same day I, as wooer, perhaps may come To so sweet an Artium Magistra.”

To the Fair “Come-Outer.”

“Lady! formosissima tu! CÆruleis oculis have you, Ditto nose! Et vous n’avez pas une faute— And that you are going to vote, Goodness knows! And the roseus on your cheek, And your Algebra and Greek, Are parfait! And your jactus oculi Knows each star that shines in the Milky Way! You have pouting, piquant lips, Sans doute vous pouvez an eclipse Calculate! Ne cÆrulum colorantur, I should have in you, instanter, Met my fate! Si, by some arrangement dual, I at once were Kant and Whewell; It would pay— Procus noti then to come To so sweet an Artium Magistra! Or, Jewel of Consistency, Si possem clear-starch, cookere, Votre learning Might the leges proscribere— Do the pro patria mori, I, the churning!”

Here are a few juvenile specimens, the first being a little-known old nursery ballad:

The Four Brothers.

“I had four brothers over the sea, Perrimerri dictum, Domine: And each one sent a present to me; Partum quartum, peredecentum, Perrimerri dictum, Domine. The first sent a cherry without any stone; Perrimerri dictum, Domine: The second a chicken without any bone, Partum quartum, peredecentum, Perrimerri dictum, Domine. The third sent a blanket without any thread; Perrimerri dictum, Domine: The fourth sent a book that no man could read; Partum quartum, peredecentum, Perrimerri dictum, Domine. When the cherry’s in the blossom, it has no stone; Perrimerri dictum, Domine: When the chicken’s in the egg, it has no bone; Partum quartum, peredecentum, Perrimerri dictum, Domine. When the blanket’s in the fleece, it has no thread; Perrimerri dictum, Domine: When the book’s in the press, no man can it read; Partum quartum, peredecentum, Perrimerri dictum, Domine.”

Little Bo-peep.

“Parvula Bo-peep Amisit her sheep, Et nescit where to find ’em; Desere alone, Et venient home, Cum omnibus caudis behind ’em.”

Jack and Jill.

“Jack cum amico Jill, Ascendit super montem; Johannes cecedit down the hill, Ex forte fregit frontem.”

The Teetotum.

“Fresh from his books, an arch but studious boy, Twirl’d with resilient glee his mobile toy; And while on single pivot foot it set, Whisk’d round the board in whirring pirouette, Shriek’d, as its figures flew too fast to note ’em, Te totum amo, amo te, Teetotum.”

Schoolboys and college youths not unfrequently adorn their books with some such macaronic as this:

“Si quisquis furetur, This little libellum, Per Bacchum, per Jovem, I’ll kill him, I’ll fell him; In venturum illius I’ll stick my scalpellum, And teach him to steal My little libellum.”

Inscriptions and epitaphs are often the vehicles of quaint and curious diction, and of these we give some instances:

The Sign of the “Gentle Shepherd of Salisbury Plain.”

(On the road from Cape Town to Simon’s Bay, Cape of Good Hope.)

“Multum in parvo, pro bono publico; Entertainment for man or beast all of a row. Lekker host as much as you please; Excellent beds without any fleas; Nos patrum fugimus—now we are here, Vivamus, let us live by selling beer On donne À boire et Á manger ici; Come in and try it, whoever you be.”

In the Visitors’ Book at Niagara Falls.

“Tres fratres stolidii, Took a boat at Niagri; Stormus arose et windus erat, Magnum frothum surgebat, Et boatum overturnebat, Et omnes drowndiderunt Quia swimmere non potuerunt!”

In the Visitors’ Book of Mount Kearsarge House.

(Summit of Mount Kearsarge, North Conway, N.H.)

“Sic itur ad astra, together; But much as we aspire, No purse of gold, this summer weather, Could hire us to go higher!”

The following epitaph is to be found in Northallerton Churchyard:

“Hic jacet Walter Gun, Sometime landlord of the Sun, Sic transit gloria mundi! He drank hard upon Friday, That being an high day, Took his bed and died upon Sunday!”

There are no macaronic authors nowadays, though poems of this class are still to be had in colleges and universities; but everything pertaining to college life is ephemeral, coming in with Freshman and going out with Senior. College students are the prolific fathers of a kind of punning Latin composition, such as:

In a similar dialect to this, Dean Swift and Dr. Sheridan used to correspond. In this way:

“Is his honor sic? PrÆ letus felis pulse.”

The Dean once wrote to the Doctor:

“Mollis abuti,		No lasso finis,
Has an acuti,		Molli divinis.”

To which the Doctor responded:

“I ritu a verse o na Molli o mi ne, Asta lassa me pole, a lÆdis o fine; I ne ver neu a niso ne at in mi ni is, A manat a glans ora sito fer diis. De armo lis abuti, hos face an hos nos is As fer a sal illi, as reddas aro sis, Ac is o mi Molli is almi de lite, Illo verbi de, an illo verbi nite.”

At this the Dean settles the whole affair by—

“Apud in is almi de si re, Mimis tres I ne ver re qui re; Alo’ ver I findit a gestis, His miseri ne ver at restis.”

Sydney Smith proposed as a motto for a well-known fish-sauce purveyor the following line from Virgil (Æn. iv. I):

“Gravi jamdudum saucia curÂ.”

When two students named Payne and Culpepper were expelled from college, a classmate wrote:

“Poenia perire potest; Culpa perennis est.”

And Dr. Johnson wrote the following epitaph on his cat:

Victor Hugo was once asked if he could write English poetry. “Certainement,” was the reply, and he sat down and wrote this verse:

“Pour chasser le spleen J’entrai dans un inn; O, mais je bus le gin, God save the queen!”

In the “Innocents Abroad” of Mark Twain he gives a letter written by his friend Mr. Blucher to a Parisian hotel-keeper, which was as follows:

“I remonstrated,” says Mr. Twain, “against the sending of this note, because it was so mixed up that the landlord would never be able to make head or tail of it; but Blucher said he guessed the old man could read the French of it, and average the rest.”

Productions like the preceding, and like that with which we conclude are continually finding their way into print, and are always readable, curious, and fresh for an idle hour.

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