Carmen V.

Quis multa gracilis te, puer, in rosa. . .

What scented stripling thee doth woo
In cosy corner at the dance?
For whom dost thou thy tresses do
So artless in thy elegance?

Laura, how oft will he bewail
Thy fickle faith and fortune's change
And wonder at the sullen gale,
Unused the stormy seas to range?

Who basks now in thy golden sun
And fondly dreams thee ever kind
With heart-room for no other one,
He little knows the treacherous wind.

Poor wretches, they to whom afer
An Eldorado thou dost loom;
For me, I thank my lucky star
That I have just escaped their doom.

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Carmen XXX.

O Venus, regina. . . . . .

Venus, queen of Orient isle,
Leave thy chosen realm awhile,
Make with Maud thy domicile,
Sojourn in her shrine;
Let Love hot-foot come with thee,
Nymphs and Graces girdle-free,
Youth, whom thy society
Ever doth refine.

Carmen XXXVIII.

Persicos odi, puer, adparatus. . . . .

Spare me, boy, the formal state
Of your dinners up-to-date,
Frenchy dishes, silver-plate
And the swallow-tail;
Let us rather take our ease
In undress beneath the trees
Washing down our bread and cheese
With a mug of ale.

Arthur Chorlton.

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Slow man, fast man,
Old man, baby,
Richmond, Hunter.
Brown and Lady,
Never mind how
Loath you may be,
Come and join the Corps.

—Willis.

They are still a young Corps, in fact mere infantry.

—Evening Post.