Proscripti Regis Rupili

How mongrel Persius managed to outsting
That pungent proscript, foul Rupilius King,
Is known, I take it, to each wight that drops
Oil on bleared eyes, or lolls in barbers' shops.

Persius was rich, a man of great affairs,
Steeped to the lips in monetary cares
Down at Clazomenae: and some dispute
'Twixt him and King had festered to a suit.
Tough, pushing, loud was he, with power of hate
To beat e'en King's; so pestilent his prate,
That Barrus and Sisenna you would find
Left in the running leagues and leagues behind.
Well, to return to King: they quickly see
They can't agree except to disagree:
For 'tis a rule, that wrath is short or long
Just as the combatants are weak or strong:
'Twixt Hector and Aeacides the strife
Was truceless, mortal, could but end with life,
For this plain reason, that in either wight
The tide of valour glowed at its full height;
Whereas, if two poor cravens chance to jar,
Or if an ill-matched couple meet in war,
Like Diomede and Glaucus, straight the worse
Gives in, and presents are exchanged of course.
Well, in the days when Brutus held command,
With praetor's rank, o'er Asia's wealthy land,
Persius and King engage, a goodly pair,
Like Bithus matched with Bacchius to a hair.
Keen as sharp steel, before the court they go,
Bach in himself as good as a whole show.

Persius begins: amid the general laugh
He praises Brutus, praises Brutus' staff,
Brutus, the healthful sun of Asia's sphere,
His staff, the minor stars that bless the year,
All, save poor King; a dog-star he, the sign
To farmers inauspicious and malign:
So roaring on he went, like wintry flood,
Where axes seldom come to thin the wood.

Then, as he thundered, King, Praeneste-bred,
Hurled vineyard slang in handfuls at his head,
A tough grape-gatherer, whom the passer-by
Could ne'er put down, with all his cuckoo cry.

Sluiced with Italian vinegar, the Greek
At length vociferates, "Brutus, let me speak!
You are our great king-killer: why delay
To kill this King? I vow 'tis in your way."