THEODORIC
Reading edition
Praise the great Goth, Theodoric! Who, a true patriot, led His northern hordes into Italy, Where he’d be better fed. Sturgeon, peacock, assafœtida— Nought came amiss to him (Though Peter Vischer of Nuremberg Makes him out to be slim). Once only did his appetite Quail at a new dish; When they served up an aged senator In the shape of a large fish. The dead eyes glared reproachfully— Fear spawned in his blood Agueish pangs innumerable As fishes in the flood. Not furs of marmot and zibeline, Nor a great fire near-by, Could warm the wretched Theodoric As he lay waiting to die; Chattering about old Symmachus, And Boëthius his friend, Who with no consolation but philosophy Made a far braver end.