“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!”