“I hate the unwashed herd,”
Horace huffed, and held his nose—
“I keep my distance.”
But he was not loathe
to curry rich Maecenas’ favor,
reaping a choice Sabine estate and
precious casks of sweet Falernian.
Still, cancel not too quickly
the ancient reprobate.
We all strive to erect fine monuments
“more lasting than bronze”; and
are not above obeisant bows
to any Monsignore or Professore
who might promote our cause or
smooth our way.
So, hail to thee, Horati:
“dimidium pars animae meae!”