The Poetry Corner

Horace, Ode XXXVIII. Lib. I. A Fragment.

By Thomas Moore

persico odi, puer, adparatus; displicent nexae philyra coronae; mitte sectari, Rosa quo locorum sera moretur. TRANSLATED BY A TREASURY CLERK, WHILE WAITING DINNER FOR THE RIGHT HON. GEORGE ROBE. Boy, tell the Cook that I hate all nicknackeries. Fricassees, vol-au-vents, puffs, and gim-crackeries-- Six by the Horse-Guards!--old Georgy is late-- But come--lay the table-cloth--zounds! do not wait, Nor stop to inquire, while the dinner is staying, At which of his places Old Rose is delaying!