The Truth About hHorace
It is very aggravating
To hear the solemn prating
Of the fossils who are stating
That old Horace was a prude;
When we know that with the ladies
He was always raising Hades,
And with many an escapade his
Best productions are imbued.
There's really not much harm in a
Large number of his carmina,
But these people find alarm in a
Few records of his acts;
So they'd squelch the muse caloric,
And to students sophomoric
They d present as metaphoric
What old Horace meant for facts.
We have always thought 'em lazy;
Now we adjudge 'em crazy!
Why, Horace was a daisy
That was very much alive!
And the wisest of us know him
As his Lydia verses show him,--
Go, read that virile poem,--
It is No. 25.
He was a very owl, sir,
And starting out to prowl, sir,
You bet he made Rome howl, sir,
Until he filled his date;
With a massic-laden ditty
And a classic maiden pretty
He painted up the city,
And Maecenas paid the freight!
poem by Eugene Field
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Diary Of Horace Wimp
= ===== == ====== ====
Monday:Late again,today,he'd be in trouble though
he'd say he was sorry,he'd have to hurry out the bus.
Tuesday:Horace was so sad,he'd never had a girl that he
could care for,and if he was late once more,he'd be out.
CHORUS
Don't be afraid,just knock on the door,
Well he just stood there mumblin' and fumblin'.
Then a voice from above said--
"Horace Wimp,this is your life,
Go out and find yourself a wife.
Make a stand and be a man,
And you will have a great life plan."
Wednesday:Horace met a girl,she was small and she
was very pretty,he thought he was in love,he was afraid.
Thursday:Asks her for a date,the cafe down the street
tomorrow evening,his head was reeling,
when she said "Yes O.K."
Repeat Chorus
Friday:Horace,this is it,he asks the girl if maybe they
could marry,when she says "gladly." Horace cries.
Sunday:Everybody's at the church,when Horace
rushes in and says "Now here come my wife,
for the rest of my life." and she did.
Repeat Chorus
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Diary Of Horace Wimp
Monday:late again,today,hed be in trouble though
Hed say he was sorry,hed have to hurry out the bus.
Tuesday:horace was so sad,hed never had a girl that he
Could care for,and if he was late once more,hed be out.
Chorus
Dont be afraid,just knock on the door,
Well he just stood there mumblin and fumblin.
Then a voice from above said--
Horace wimp,this is your life,
Go out and find yourself a wife.
Make a stand and be a man,
And you will have a great life plan.
Wednesday:horace met a girl,she was small and she
Was very pretty,he thought he was in love,he was afraid.
Thursday:asks her for a date,the cafe down the street
Tomorrow evening,his head was reeling,
When she said yes o.k.
Repeat chorus
Friday:horace,this is it,he asks the girl if maybe they
Could marry,when she says gladly. horace cries.
Sunday:everybodys at the church,when horace
Rushes in and says now here come my wife,
For the rest of my life. and she did.
Repeat chorus
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Doughboy's Horace
Horace: Book III, Ode 9
"Donec eram gratus tibi--"
HORACE, PVT. --TH INFANTRY, A.E.F., WRITES:
While I was fussing you at home
You put the notion in my dome
That I was the Molasses Kid.
I batted strong. I'll say I did.
LYDIA, ANYBURG U.S.A., WRITES:
While you were fussing me alone
To other boys my heart was stone.
When I was all that you could see
No girl had anything on me.
HORACE:
Well, say, I'm having some romance
With one Babette, of Northern France.
If that girl gave me the command
I'd dance a jig in No-Man's Land.
LYDIA:
I, too, have got a young affair
With Charley--say, that boy is there!
I'd just as soon go out and die
If I thought it'd please that guy
HORACE:
Suppose I can this foreign wren
And start things up with you again?
Suppose I promise to be good?
I'd love you Lyd. I'll say I would.
LYDIA:
Though Charley's good and handsome--oh, boy!
And you're a stormy fickle doughboy,
So give the Hun his final whack,
And I'll marry you when you come back.
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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Ninth Ode of the Third Book of Horace
Horace.
While I was your beloved one,
And while no other youth threw his fond arms around
Your white neck so easily,
Than the King of the world I was far happier.
Lydia..
While you loved not another one,
While you did not prefer Chloë to Lydia,
I then thought myself happier
Than the mother of Rome, great Rhea Silvia.
Horace..
Thracian Chloë now governs me,
She can merrily sing, playing the cithara;
I'd not scruple to die for her,
If the Implacable spared Chloë, the auburn haired.
Lydia.
I now love and am loved again,
By my Calaïs, son of the old Ornytus;
Twice I'd die for him willingly,
If the terrible fates spared but my Calaïs.
Horace.
What if love should return again,
And unite us by ties more indissoluble?
What if Chloë were cast away,
And the long-closed door open to Lydia?
Lydia.
My love's brighter than any star;
You, too, lighter than cork, tossed on the waves of the Hadriatic so terrible;
Still I'd live but with thee, and I could die with thee.
poem by James Clerk Maxwell
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Horace and Lydia Reconciled
HORACE
When you were mine in auld lang syne,
And when none else your charms might ogle,
I'll not deny,
Fair nymph, that I
Was happier than a Persian mogul.
LYDIA
Before she came--that rival flame!--
(Was ever female creature sillier?)
In those good times,
Bepraised in rhymes,
I was more famed than Mother Ilia!
HORACE
Chloe of Thrace! With what a grace
Does she at song or harp employ her!
I'd gladly die
If only I
Might live forever to enjoy her!
LYDIA
My Sybaris so noble is
That, by the gods! I love him madly--
That I might save
Him from the grave
I'd give my life, and give it gladly!
HORACE
What if ma belle from favor fell,
And I made up my mind to shake her,
Would Lydia, then,
Come back again
And to her quondam flame betake her?
LYDIA
My other beau should surely go,
And you alone should find me gracious;
For no one slings
Such odes and things
As does the lauriger Horatius!
poem by Eugene Field
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The IX Ode to Horace
HORACE.
While I was pleasing to your arms,
Nor any youth, of happier charms,
Thy snowy bosom blissful prest,
Not Portia's like me was blest.
LYDIA.
While for no other fair you burn'd,
Nor Lydia was for Chloe scorn'd
What maid was then so blest as thine?
Not [xx's] flame could equal mine.
HORACE.
Me Chloe now possesses whole,
Her voice her lyre command my soul;
For whom Ill gladly die, to save
Her dearer beauties from the grave.
LYDIA.
My heart young Calats inspires,
Whose bosom glows with mutal fires,
For whom I twice would die with joy,
If death would spare the charming boy.
HORACE.
Yet what if love, whole bards we broke,
Again should tame us to the yoke;
Should I shake off bright Chloe's chain,
And take my Lydia home again?--
LYDIA.
Though he exceed in beauty far
The rising lustre of a star;
Though light as cork thy fancy strays,
Thy passions wild as angry seas,
When vex'd with storms; yet gladly I
With thee would live, with thee would die.
poem by Major Henry Livingston Jr.
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Lydia Dick
When I was a boy at college,
Filling up with classic knowledge,
Frequently I wondered why
Old Professor Demas Bently
Used to praise so eloquently
'Opera Horatii.'
Toiling on a season longer
Till my reasoning power got stronger,
As my observation grew,
I became convinced that mellow,
Massic-loving poet fellow
Horace knew a thing or two
Yes, we sophomores figured duly
That, if we appraised him truly,
Horace must have been a brick;
And no wonder that with ranting
Rhymes he went a-gallivanting
Round with sprightly Lydia Dick!
For that pink of female gender
Tall and shapely was, and slender,
Plump of neck and bust and arms;
While the raiment that invested
Her so jealously suggested
Certain more potential charms.
Those dark eyes of her that fired him--
Those sweet accents that inspired him,
And her crown of glorious hair--
These things baffle my description;
I should have a fit conniption
If I tried--so I forbear!
May be Lydia had her betters;
Anyway, this man of letters
Took that charmer as his pick;
Glad--yes, glad I am to know it!
I, a fin de siecle poet,
Sympathize with Lydia Dick!
Often in my arbor shady
I fall thinking of that lady
And the pranks she used to play;
And I'm cheered--for all we sages
Joy when from those distant ages
Lydia dances down our way.
Otherwise some folks might wonder
With good reason why in thunder
Learned professors, dry and prim,
Find such solace in the giddy
Pranks that Horace played with Liddy
Or that Liddy played on him.
Still this world of ours rejoices
In those ancient singing voices,
And our hearts beat high and quick,
To the cadence of old Tiber
Murmuring praise of roistering Liber
And of charming Lydia Dick.
Still, Digentia, downward flowing,
Prattleth to the roses blowing
By the dark, deserted grot;
Still, Soracte, looming lonely,
Watcheth for the coming only
Of a ghost that cometh not.
poem by Eugene Field
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The wisest prophets make sure of the event first.
quote by Horace Walpole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Journalism will kill you, but it will keep you alive while you're at it.
quote by Horace Greeley
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Daisy
Daisy, you came into my life,
Delivered to me by my wife,
You carried me through a time of strife,
No more boots, I wish you a peaceful life,
Daisy, oh my Daisy,
You drive me crazy,
You're a little bit lazy,
My Sweetheart,
Looking at me with those big eyes,
Pointy ears hear the human lies,
When I am down, only you hear my cries,
In my darkest hours, you were there,
Just a look to show you care,
Your warmth my only consolation,
In my time of great trepidation,
Daisy, oh my Daisy,
You drive me crazy,
You're a little bit lazy,
My Sweetheart,
When your sister drives you to despair,
Back you go to your lair,
I always try to be fair,
Everywhere your dark hair,
Only you know how much I care,
Your sister gives me inspiration,
But your heart always brings me elation,
You have saved our nation, from great tribulation!
April 2012
poem by David Andre' Klopper
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Top Of The Pops
Ive just come in at number 25
Im oh so happy, so glad to be alive
And everybody says its going to get to the top
Life is so easy when your records hot.
Go tell my mamma and my sister too
To press my trousers and polish my shoes
I might even end up a rock-and-roll god
It might turn into a steady job.
And my agent said to me: son, I always told you so.
Now my records number 11 on the bbc
But number seven on the n.m.e.
Not the melody maker want to interview me
And ask my view on politics and theories on religion.
Now my records up to number 3
And a woman recognized me and started to scream
This all seems like a crazy dream
Ive been invited to a dinner with a prominent queen
And now Ive got friends that I never knew I had before.
Its strange how people want you when you records high
cos when it drops down they just pass you by
Now my agent just called me and said it me:
Son your records just got to number one.
song performed by by Kinks
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If a man's fortune does not fit him, it is like the shoe in the story; if too large it trips him up, if too small it pinches him.
A shoe that is too large is apt to trip one, and when too small, to pinch the feet. So it is with those whose fortune does not suit them.
Lazy People
Lazy is as lazy does,
Which is do nothing really,
Coz Lazy is as always does,
Make us do nothing freely.
Lazy people are no crazy people.
Lazy people are truly smart people.
Fast tricks, short fix type of people.
So Lazy has it's good and bad,
Are you lazy? Ask your Dad.
We have our lazy days,
We have our lazy ways.
Do you qualify the breed?
Bring your eyes to feed,
On lazy poems, read.
Courage is the fear of being thought a coward.
quote by Horace Smith
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There is no bigotry like that of ""free thought"" run to seed.
quote by Horace Greeley
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