While we were yet talking, in came a handsome boy with a wreath of vine leaves and ivy about his head; declaring himself one while Bromius, another while Lyccus, and another Euphyus (several names of Bacchus) he carried about a server of grapes, and with a clear voice, repeated some of his master’s poetry, at which Trimalchio turning to him, “Dionysius,” said he, “be thou Liber,” (i.e.) free, (two other names of Bacchus) whereupon the boy took the cap from off the boar’s head, and putting it on his own, Trimalchio added, “You will not deny me but I have a father, Liber.”  We all praised the conceit, and soundly kissed the boy as he went round us.

From this up rose Trimalchio, and went to the close-stool; we also being at liberty, without a tyrant over us fell to some table-talk.

When presently one calling for a bumper, “The day,” said he, “is nothing, ’tis night e’re the scene turn, and therefore nothing is better than to go straight from bed to board.  We have had a great deal of frost, the bagnio has scarce heated me; but a warm drinking is my wardrobe-keeper:  For my part, I have spun this days thread; the wine is got into my noddle, and I am down-right—­”

Selucus went on with the rest, “And I,” said he, “do not bathe every day, for he where I use to bathe is a fuller:  Cold water has teeth in it, and my head grows every day more washy than others, but when I have got my dose in my guts, I bid defiance to cold:  Nor could I well do it to day, for I was at a funeral, a jolly companion, and a good man was he, Crysanthus has breathed his last:  ’Tis not long since we were together, and methinks I talk with him now.  Alas, alas! we are but blown bladders, less than flies, yet they have somewhat in them:  But we are meer bubbles.  You’ll say he would not be rul’d; not a drop of water, or crumb of bread went down his throat in five days:  And yet he’s gone, or that he died of the doctor.  But I am of opinion his time was come; for a physician is a great comfort.  However, he was well carried out of his house upon a rich bed, and mightily lamented, he made some of his servants free; but his wife seem’d not much concerned for him.  You’ll say again he was not kind to her; but women are a kind of kites; whatever good is done them, ’tis the same as if it were thrown in a well; and old love is as bad as a goal.”

At this Philaos grew troublesome, and cryed out, “Let us remember the living:  He had what was due to him; as he liv’d so he dy’d; and what has he now that any man moans the want of it?  He came from nothing, and to his dying-day would have taken a farthing from a dunghil with his teeth; therefore as he grew up, he grew like a honey-comb.  He dy’d worth the Lord knows what, all ready money.  But to the matter; I have eaten a dog’s tongue and dare speak truth:  He had a foul mouth, was all babble; a very make-bate, not a man.  His brother was a brave fellow, a friend to his friends, of an open hand, and kept a full table:  He did