From: Horace To: Phyllis Subject: Invitation

Horace: Book IV, Ode 11 "Est mihi nonum superantis annum--" Phyllis, I've a jar of wine, (Alban, B.C. 49) Parsley wreathes, and, for your tresses, Ivy that your beauty blesses. Shines my house with silverware; Frondage decks the altar stair-- Sacred vervain, a device For a lambkin's sacrifice. Up and down the household stairs What a festival prepares! Everybody's superintending-- See the sooty smoke ascending! What, you ask me, is the date Of the day we celebrate? 13th April, month of Venus-- Birthday of my boss, Mycænas. Let me, Phyllis, say a word Touching Telephus, a bird Ranking far too high above you; (And the loafer doesn't love you). Lessons, Phyllie, may be learned From Phaëton--how he was burned! And recall Bellerophon was One equestrian who thrown was. Phyllis, of my loves the last, My philandering days are past. Sing you, in your clear contralto, Songs I write for the rialto.