The Games
'We were to sit together at the games, But then he said his parents would come too— Old courtiers, rigged in their amethyst and gold! Why, they will wreck our fun. Not that one blames Sosibius of course, but if he knew How difficult it all is. I have not even told Euphorion yet. But in his letter my father Wrote that my people may also be coming to see • The chariot-race. How will shabby provincials blend With that smart set? I had rather Die than watch those wry lips silently agree That young Sosibius has not picked the right friend.
And I was looking forward to the games. Ivory chariots, the parade, shrill Trumpeters, wild crowds, the fun of going about With old Sosibius—the silly ass still claims He writes the sharper epigram! I must fall ill. A sham illness is now the one way out.
C. A. TRYPANIS
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