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[Puntrus Winonius Mano—such was the full name of Virgil the prince of Latin Poets—was born at Pietola, near Mantua, 70 b.c., and died at Rome at the age of 51.
It is not the province of this book to enumerate his glorious works, indeed it is merely the chance of Comerre's picture that reminded us of our ability to give Virgil a place in the Library of Wit AND HUMoR.
The Pastoral into which Virgil introduces this story is addressed to his friend Verus—a man evidently of high rank—and seems meant as an apology for not complying with his request to write a poem on his exploit.)
“I thought to sing how heroes fought and bled,
But that Apollo pinched my ear, and said—
“Shepherds, friend Tityrus, I would have you know,
Feed their sheep high, and pitch their verses low.’”
Then he goes on to tell his story:—
“Two Bacchants and a Faun, the story runs,
he ; The garland from his head had fallen aside, And his round bottle hanging near they spied. Now was their time—both had been cheated lon By the fly god with promise of a song; They tied him fast—fit bonds his garland made— And lo! a fair accomplice comes to aid : Loveliest of Naiad-nymphs, and merriest too, AEglè did what they scarce had dared to do; Just as the god unclosed his sleepy eyes, She daubed his face with blood of mulberries. He saw their joke, and laughed—“Now loose me, lad! Enough—you've caught me—tying is too bad. A song you want?—Here goes. For AEgle, mind, I warrant me I’ll pay her out in kind.” So he began. The listening Fauns drew near, The beasts beat time, the stout oaks danced to hear. So joy Parnassus when Apollo sings— So through the dancing hills the lyre of Orpheus rings.”
“Then how shall I get you, my jewel?