--Sir Richard Fanshawe
TO A SCHOOLMASTER
Martial. Book X, lxii
Thou monarch of eight parts of speech,
Who sweep'st with birch a youngster's breech,
Oh! now awhile withhold your hand!
So may the trembling crop-hair'd band
Around your desk attentive hear,
And pay you love instead of fear;
So may yours ever be as full,
As writing or as dancing school.
The scorching dog-day is begun;
The harvest roasting in the sun;
Each Bridewell keeper, though requir'd
To use the lash, is too much tir'd.
Let ferula and rod together
Lie dormant, till the frosty weather.
Boys do improve enough in reason,
Who miss a fever in this season.
--John Hay
EPITAPH ON EROTION
Martial. Book X, lxi
Underneath this greedy stone,
Lies little sweet Erotion;[3]
Whom the Fates, with hearts as cold,
Nipp'd away at six years old.
Thou, whoever thou mayst be,
That hast this small field after me,
Let the yearly rites be paid
To her little slender shade;
So shall no disease or jar
Hurt thy house, or chill thy Lar;
But this tomb be here alone
The only melancholy stone.
--Leigh Hunt
[Footnote 3: A little girl who died at six years of age.]
_NON AMO TE_
Martial. I, 32
Non amo te, Sabidi, nec possum dicere quare:
Hoc tantum possum dicere, non amo te.
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