("His Friends" To Quintus Horatius Flaccus.) "H'C Decies Repetita [Non] Placebit."--Ars Poetica. Flaccus, You Write Us Charming Songs: No Bard We Know Possesses In Such Perfection What Belongs To Brief And Bright Addresses; No Man Can Say That Life Is Short With Mien So Little Fretful; No Man To Virtue'S Paths Exhort In Phrases Less Regretful; Or Touch, With More Serene Distress, On Fortune'S Ways Erratic; And Then Delightfully Digress From Alp To Adriatic: All This Is Well, No Doubt, And Tends Barbarian Minds To Soften; But, Horace--We, We Are Your Friends-- Why Tell Us This So Often? Why Feign To Spread A Cheerful Feast, And Then Thrust In Our Faces These Barren Scraps (To Say The Least) Of Stoic Common-Places? Recount, And Welcome, Your Pursuits: Sing Lyd''S Lyre And Hair; Sing Drums And Berecynthian Flutes; Sing Parsley-Wreaths; But Spare,-- O, Spare To Sing, What None Deny, That Things We Love Decay;-- That Time And Gold Have Wings To Fly;-- That All Must Fate Obey! Or Bid Us Dine--On This Day Week-- And Pour Us, If You Can, As Soft And Sleek As Girlish Cheek, Your Inmost C'Cuban;-- Of That We Fear Not Overplus; But Your Didactic 'Tap'-- Forgive Us!--Grows Monotonous; Nunc Vale! Verbum Sap.