AQUILIUS.--I have, and will read it, after yours to Verannius: and it is curious as showing that the Romans had the practice of using handkerchiefs, or napkins, of value,--perhaps such a fashion as is now revived by the other sex,--and embroidered with lace.
GRATIAN.--Now, Mr Curate.--If you let our friend digress thus, we shall never have your version.
My friend, the dearest and the best, E'en though ten thousand I possess'd!-- My own Verannius! art thou come To greet again thy gods of home, And brethren that so well agree Together, and in loving thee-- And come to thy sweet mother, too? O blessed news! and it is true, That I shall see thee safe at last; And hear thee tell thy travel pass'd-- Of Spanish places, things, and tribes, (While every word my heart imbibes,) In thine old way: shall I embrace Thy neck--and kiss thy pleasant face? Find me the happy where you can, I still shall be the happiest man.
AQUILIUS.--An invitation to dinner, or, as the Romans made it, supper--and a curious invitation it is. Fabullus, to whom it was addressed, was companion to his friend Verannius--and both were with the pestilent Piso, in Spain.
CURATE.--And brought little out of it; but returned poorer than they went--as did, it should seem, Catullus himself from Bithynia. So that I should imagine the invitation to Fabullus was a mere jest upon their mutual poverty. For it does not appear that Fabullus was in a condition to indulge in luxuries.
AQUILIUS.--Perhaps, when the invitation was sent, Catullus was not aware that his friend had been as unsuccessful, under Piso, as he had himself been, under Memmius. Thus stands the invitation:--
A few days hence, my dear Fabullus, If the gods grant you that high favour, You shall sup well with your Catullus; For, to ensure the dishes' savour, Yourself shall cater, and shall cull us Best fruits--and wines of choicest flavour. And with you bring your lass--fun--laughter-- All plenty: nor confine your wishes To supernumerary dishes;-- Bring all--and pay the piper after. Rich be your fare--and all fruition, Taste, elegance, and sweet discourses Familiar, on that one condition. For, truth to tell, my wretched purse is In its last stage of inanition, And not a single coin disburses: A cobweb's over it, and in it-- That Spider Want there loves to spin it.