Imitationes Litterarum Latinarum ab discipulis meis scriptae

Haec imitationes exortae sunt ex discipulis meis qui (aut quae) cursum discendi "Latin Literature" agunt. Omnes scriptiones hic positae notas egregias meruerunt.

1) Constantia Renfrow hanc imitationem poematis epici composuit (in qua parodia de suo loco habitationis communi extat):
Matt Slowinski (Marcus - warlike), Jeff (Geoffrey), Tom (Tacitus – mute/silent)
Matt L (Magnus - great)., Nate (Nerva - strength), Eric (Elianus - sun)
Constance (Constantia - steadfast), Kristin (Dulcia - sweet), Rich Tom (Ferox – arrogant, obstinate), Emily (Emilia)

Florrmen by Constance Renfrow

Great Calliope, wisest of the Helicon sisterhood,
Grant me courage to tell of the
Bones of men that litter the halls of Therdflorr Schnadus.
A bloody battle was waged upon that
Sacred floor. Bold heroes went to their doom –
Frightened Florrmen, innocent of wrongs, were caught
In the fray
And callously sent to stand on Charon’s banks.

Noble Muse, for what reason did so many
Innocents fall in a needless fight?
Upon the unstained halls of Therdflorr Schnadus,
Northern men came upon southern brothers with angry intent.
Bold Marcus, Lord of the Northern halls
Stormed into Therdflorr’s communal rooms,
With crafty Tacitus, renowned for his stealthy attacks,
And brave Geoffrey, new to the craft of war,
Loyally following.
This frightening trio demanded the
Return of stolen northern property – a golden goblet, a gift
Given to the north by Bacchus himself as thanks for
An ancient deed.

August Magnus, king of Southern Therdflorr
Turned his flashing eyes upon the ignoble intruders.
He shrugged his bronzed shoulders and tossed his golden hair
In anger. “You who have always lived peacefully as our kin,
Would you now accuse us of a grievous crime? Would
You seek our wrath after generations of love? My
Beautiful wife was once herself a Northern Florrwoman,
Could you believe I would insult the brothers of my bride?”

Arrogant Marcus, his pride and anger erumpent,
Slammed his shield against the wall. In anger he howled
His response, “When it was not you
Who stole our golden treasure, who else could it have been?
I have seen your men’s envious eyes as they gazed upon
Our fortune. Vile Southerner! Return to us our prize!”

The Southern king swelled with wrath, and
Brandished his spear in threat. His voice resounded through the
Echoing hall, “We have no stolen treasure!
Offend this noble hall no more with your presence;
Away with you!” Marcus, his rage unchecked, cried
“If you refuse us what is ours, then it is war you declare.
So be it, war you shall receive!”

With this murderous declaration, savage
Marcus swept back to Northern Therdflorr, his faithful
Friends, stealthy Tacitus and kind-hearted Geoffrey,
Following in his wake.

Their warlike mien frightened the maidens of
The Southern province who had witnessed that
Confrontation of kings.
With fear in her heart, pious Dulcia, Priestess of the
Virgin Diana, ran to the huntress’s shrine
And with supplicating gestures
Begged the goddess’s pity and mercy.
Phoebe heard the woman’s plea, yet still she
Turned her eyes away, and – knowing the fate of the
Citizens of Therdflorr Schnadus as decreed by Jupiter –
Condemned the purest Florrwoman to death.

Majestic Magnus, anticipating a Northern attack,
Called his captains to arms. With alacrity,
Great Nerva – renowned for his strength in battle,
And noble Elianus, Phoebus Apollo’s most favoured Florrman,
Gathered their men and choicest weapons.
Magnus, brandishing his sword, called words
Of encouragement to his assembled army.
“Proud Florrmen! Noblest of warriors, hear my words! Tonight we
Fight for the good name of our Southern lands!
Those cowards from the North slander these halls
And insult our families! They call us thieves,
Claiming we stole a paltry gift given by a golden god.
Innocent of this crime, we shall repay their calumny
With blows. Thieves we were not, but thieves we
Shall be, for tonight we steal their lives!”

These words the warriors
Greeted with cheers and accolades.
Flourishing their weapons in bravado and zeal,
They waited impatiently for the assault from the
North.

Yet the honorable attack they anticipated
Did not come. Instead of the roar of men rushing into battle,
They heard the cries of a single woman from
A Southern hall. It was the voice of Emilia,
Magnus’s beautiful wife. She had stepped forth
From her chambers with the intention of pouring
Libation at the goddess Diana’s shrine.
Yet barely three steps had she made before
Artful Tacitus made his presence behind her
Known. He had crept
Along hidden passages into the halls of Southern
Therdflorr, intending a stealthy attack from
Within. Upon hearing the silent Tacitus’
Footsteps, Fair Emilia looked round, and spying her
Lurking foe, let loose a scream that echoed
Throughout the domain of Therdflorr Schnadus.
In terror she ran to escape a certain death,
but before she could go any further,
Tacitus’s sure blade had severed her spirit from her frame.
Oh dastardly villain! How could you slaughter a
Defenseless maid?

Upon hearing the death scream of
Tragic Emilia, the Southern king dashed
Forward through the halls. As his eyes fell on the
Bloodied corpse of his gentle bride,
The miserable man flew into a rage,
And rushed upon Tacitus, her killer, in a
Murderous frenzy. At first they
Matched blow for blow, but the furious
Lover ended the stalemate. With one final swing
Of his noble blade, Magnus split his foe’s shield
In twain, and dug his sword up to its hilt
In Tacitus’s flesh.

In triumph the maddened king swung round,
And, calling faithful Elianus to his side,
Charged into Northern territory, with
Vengeance planted in his heart.
With sword’s raised the mighty pair
Broke down the giant doors of the Northern schoolroom.
Two youthful Northerners were within.
The first – noble Ferox, too young for
battle – lay stretched upon a sofa,
Playing a game of heroes. The other,
Faithful Constantia, sat in a corner,
Dutifully studying Propertius’ elegies.
Leaping to his feet at the unexpected
Intrusion, proud Ferox faced his foes with a
Brave visage. Though unarmed, he struck
A battle-ready pose – aiming to distract
The invaders while Constantia made her escape.
However his valour was futile; with one true swing of his
Blade Magnus brought the youth to his knees.
Constantia’s flight was cut short as Elianus’s spear
Pierced her spine. Tossing the lifeless bodies in a heap,
The Southern warriors continued in their path
Of destruction.

The frenzied warriors attacked every
Innocent of the Northern halls in brutal
Revenge for Emilia’s death. Soon the floors
Of the north were flooded with life-giving blood.
Yet the fighting was no less fierce upon
Southern grounds. Corpses littered the halls,
And agonized screams polluted the air.
Upon the altar of the goddess, pious Dulcia
was pierced through the heart
by raging Marcus’s spear as she prayed for Diana’s pity.
Yet, as her life drained away, she cursed the
Man who murdered her and all his family
Throughout the ages.

When neither army could find more
Victims for their wrath, warrior
Turned upon warrior in final confrontation.
With bloodied swords and gore covered faces,
The Northern army confronted the South
In the communal rooms of Therdflorr Schnadus.
A violent shout arose from the throats of the
Northern fighters. Undaunted, the Southern warriors
Added their voices to the din. As the noise swelled
To its climax, both armies dashed in anger upon the others’
Blades.

The first to fall was mighty Nerva, slain by
Gallant Geoffrey. Great Nerva fought boldly, and though
He killed many lesser opponents, he was no match
For Geoffrey’s spear. Nerva swung his powerful axe
At his enemy’s neck, intending to part head from
Shoulders, but the agile warrior ducked the blow
And planted his javelin in mighty Nerva’s chest.

It was wicked Marcus who slew Apollo-favoured
Elianus. Jovial Elianus had also brought down
Many foes in battle, yet he was bested by their
Leader’s blade. But this was no fair fight. Cowardly
Marcus did not meet his foe face to face,
Rather he took a bow from a dead man’s hand,
And aimed an arrow at Elianus’ back.
Dishonorable though it was, his aim was true,
And god-loved Elianus fell, not knowing his
Killer.

Then came the battle of kings -
A showdown worthy of the gods.
Revered Magnus raised his sword in rage against
Marcus – hatred filled every stroke.
Blow after blow rained down upon Marcus’s
Shield – scarcely had he time to counterattack.
In final desperation, Marcus lifted his sword
And struck wildly at his opponent. However, the blade
Struck upon the metal of Magnus’s helm and
Leapt from Marcus’s hands. The king of the North
Knowing his end was nigh, cast away his battered
Shield and spread his arms out wide, embracing
Oncoming death. Unperturbed by this final act of
Glory, raging Magnus impaled valiant Marcus upon
The end of his sword.

His blade dripping the blood of many men,
glorious Magnus lifted his sword into the air in triumph.
Spying the Southern king in this attitude of victory,
Geoffrey, raised to a fury by the bloodshed,
Hoisted his javelin to his shoulder, and hurled his
Spear at his triumphant foe. A truer blow was never
Before seen. That javelin pierced Magnus’s
Golden armor, separated his ribcage,
And crushed his pulsating heart. Spread-eagled
The glorious king fell backward, resplendent even
In death.

Gallant Geoffrey, the sole survivor of the
Massacre, stumbled with shaking limbs toward
The shrine of godly Jupiter. There upon the
Sacred altar stood the golden gift of Bacchus.
The miserable warrior took hold of the
Golden goblet, and sobbed these words “Oh, mighty Jove!
You have made fools of us all!
This treacherous trinket has murdered an
Entire people. Take it back to the hell that
Crafted it, for we want it not,
Nor can we ever use it now!”

So saying, the Florrman cast the goblet
Upon the gore covered floor,
Whereupon the blood of a thousand men
Swirled together and stained the god given gift red.

2)Dominica Martella haec epigrammata composuit, imitans Catullum.

Sarah Palin,
you try hard to disprove the remark
that you are a pitbull in lipstick.
But truly all I can see
is your makeup bag.

(Parody of Indifference)
Senator Obama,
I care not what you are,
black or white.
So long as you might alleviate
my student loans.

(Sign of Love Parody)
My love also has an insult
to fling or a dirty look
to give whenever I pass by going to class.
If his acknowledgements to me
aren’t a sign of his love,
then I don’t know what is.

Jazzmans,
please return my three dollars to me
and then cheat whomever you’d like.
But surely you do not expect me to accept
a cappuccino half-empty.

You tell me that we will be happy together,
and enjoy each other’s company for years to come.
If this is so, why do you not respond to my
kisses, and why do you go flat when I advance?
Dear car, tell me what I’ve done wrong.

Do you love you dear wife of twenty years,
or is your mouth talking faster than your mind can think?
You are quick to tell us that your eyes never wander
but your secretary tells another story.

(Parody of Naso)
You’re a lot of man, Stomachus, and many men
and women wouldn’t dare stand up to you
especially in a dark alleyway. Stomachus,
you’re a lot of man, and you shall be three pounds more
of man, once you finish that large pizza.


Flatulent Fidus,
everything that comes out of you
make everyone sick. You are quite
vulgar and malodorous, not to
mention your overwhelming
laziness. Fidus, you would be
a truly repulsive human being,
were you not a dog.

(In the style of Ave atque Vale)
May you travel now on feathered clouds
drifting calmly past the warm sunlight.
I come now, grandmother, to lay flowers
on your grave and to assure you that
your memory has not been forgotten.
Unjust fate had taken you away too soon.
Receive this ribbon-tied bouquet heavy
with grief and know that you are truly missed.


3)Liz Drialo hanc fabulam ut Plauntinam composuit:


CLEVER SLAVE (to the audience): He think these are tickets to Plautus’ newest – he cannot find out they are – in truth – worthless. Ah! Here he comes!

The master enters – the usual grumpy SENEX

SENEX: Have you my tickets, slave?

SLAVE (to SENEX): Yes, sir. Here, sir. See, sir?

SENEX: Yes!

SENEX reaches for the tickets but the SLAVE pulls them away

SENEX: What trick is this? Give me those tickets!

SLAVE: I would sir, in an instant, sir, but I fear the wind.

SENEX: The wind?

SLAVE: I have a very good grip on them now, sir – but if I were to pass them to you – a strong gust may come and lost! Lost are your tickets!

SENEX: You are mad! Dear Gods, you are mad!

SLAVE: As a hatter, sir!

SENEX: Excuse me?

f0 SLAVE: I am a soothsayer!

SENEX: Mad! Mad! Mad! Hold the tickets then – I fear for my safety if I take them!

SENEX exits.

SLAVE (to himself/audience): I have bought myself time! Time to find tickets and time in a madhouse, for sure! But a madhouse would be better than serving that old man!

The YOUNG MAN of the plot enters forlorn.

YOUNG MAN: Oh gods!

SLAVE: A problems?

YOUNG MAN: How did you know?

SLAVE: I’m good at these things.

YOUNG MAN: The woman I love is to be married tomorrow! Tomorrow! How I hate you, tomorrow!

SLAVE: Yes, I can see that.

YOUNG MAN: Oh – do help me!

SLAVE: And how can I do that?

YOUNG MAN: In the evenings she and I exchange loving glances from out windows afar!

SLAVE: Not too much personal time, then.

YOUNG MAN: Why – none! Our longing looks are the only way we have spoken but our love is fervent and strong! I can see it in her mere smile.

SLAVE (rolling his eyes): I am very sure. Continue.

YOUNG MAN: There is a trellis –

SLAVE: A trellis – of course!

YOUNG MAN: There is a trellis below her window – if you were to climb it and tell her of my love –

SLAVE: And why not do this yourself?

YOUNG MAN: And risk being caught and thrown in a madhouse?

SLAVE: Yes, because love is not worth madness, is it?

YOUNG MAN: I don’t understand.

SLAVE: Of course you don’t. Well – as I am bound for the madhouse anyway –

YOUNG MAN: What? A madhouse? What reason?

SLAVE: Long story short – Plautus.

YOUNG MAN: Plautus?

SLAVE: I could not acquire tickets for your father – I have been using these false ones instead of telling the truth.

YOUNG MAN: But you’ll have to at some point.

SLAVE: Yes.

YOUNG MAN: I’ve got it!

SLAVE: What?

YOUNG MAN: If I find tickets to Plautus for father for you, will you climb the trellis?

SLAVE: That still does not save me completely from the madhouse!

YOUNG MAN: But it rids you of one of the doors to it! What else could you want?

SLAVE: Freedom.

YOUNG MAN: Freedom?

SLAVE: Freedom and Plautus and you have your trellis. At least then the madhouse will be bearable knowing I attained both before I was rendered an incompetent citizen.

4)plus imitationum postea...

Another Road Trip!

Why is Owen smiling? Well, Owen smiles a lot, and he especially likes to smile for the camera. Mama and Daddy are smiling because we bought gas in Delaware for $2.889/gallon!

We met Allen, his fiancee Karie, and her little girl Kailey near Cape Henlopen State Park for camping. The state park was all filled up, so Allen and Karie found a private campground with fishing ponds, a huge stack of free firewood, and no other tent campers. We cooked over the fire Saturday night and this morning. Owen and Kailey especially liked the fire. As soon as Owen woke for the day, he tried to get out of the tent, and repeated, "fi, fi, fi," ("fire, fire, fire"). It was a good think Allen had rebuilt the fire before his early morning run, as both the kids enjoyed keeping warm first thing in the morning, and we could get breakfast going.
Allen and Kailey brought along their fishing poles, so they did a bit of fishing in the pond this morning. I believe all the catch were bream and were released. Sunny tried to take a bite out of the first fish of the day, but seemed to get a bit of a rough touch on a sharp fin.
After we packed up out tents, we went to the beach at Cape Henlopen where Owen and Kailey enjoyed the COLD water, playing in the sand, and looking for shells. We had a tasty picnic on the beach, and said our good-byes. Owen got a great nap on the way home, and we got gas for $2.779 in Maryland to boot!
Thanks for a great weekend guys!