“This war is a terrible thing,” he… “With its countless numbers of nee… A futile warfare it seems to me, Fought for no principle I can see… Alas, that thousands of hearts sho…

Many a jest that refuses to die Bobs up again as the seasons appea… Deathless it hits us again in the… Changeless and dull as the calenda… Musty and mouldy and yellow and se…

All stark and cold the merchant la… All cold and stark lay he. And who hath killed the fair merch… Now tell the truth to me. Oh, I have killed this fair merch…

("Humourists have amused themselves by translating famous sonnets into free verse. A result no less ridiculous would have been obtained if somebody had re-written a passage from 'Paradi...

("Sir: For the first time in twenty-three years 'Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations’ has been revised and enlarged, and under a separate cover we are sending you a copy of the new edition. ...

AD ARIUSTUM FUSCUM Horace: Book I, Ode 22. ‘_Integer vitae sclerisque purus_'… _Take it from me: A guy who’s squ… His chances always are the best.

There was a man in our town, and h… was wondrous rich; He gave away his millions to the c… and sich; And people cried: “The hypocrite!…

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 tr…

The terrible things that the Gove… Of Kansas says alarm me; And yet somehow we won the war In spite of the Regular Army. The things they say of the old N.…

In 1909 toilet goods were not cons… In 1919 an assortment of perfumes… —From “How the Farmer Has Change… Maud Muller, on a summer’s day, Powdered her nose with Bon Sachet…

(Parody is a genre frowned upon by… of literature... And yet it is a g… ‘The Point of View’ in May _Scri… A sweet disorder in the verse That never looks behind

[“There are so many things I want… Said Abelard to Heloïse: “Your tresses blowing in the breez… Enchant my soul; your cheek allure… I never knew such lips as yours.”

It was a summer evening; Old Kaspar was at home, Sitting before his cottage door— Like in the Southey pome— And near him, with a magazine,

Horace: Book I, Ode 19 “Mater sæva Cupidinum” Venus, the cruel mother of The Cupids (symbolising Love), Bids me to muse upon and sigh

Horace: Book III, Ode 3 “Carminis interea nostri redæmus… Let us return, then, for a time, To our accustomed round of rhyme; And let my songs’ familiar art