POETRY.
COMMON LIFE.
(After Antiphilus of Sysantium.—Anth. Pal., IX., 546.)
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GIVE me a mat on the deck,
When the awnings sound to the blows of the spray, And the hearth-stones crack With the flames a-back, And the pot goes bubbling away.
Give me a boy to cook my broth, For table a ship's plank laid with a cloth (But never a fork or knife) : And after a game with a rusty pack,
The bo'sun's whistle to call us back—
That's the fortune fit for a King, For oh ! I love common life. X.