Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus) - 1.7.1. lyrics

It's a story I think that's well-known to every Chemist's and barber's shop, how Graeco-Roman Persius, repaid vile, venomous ‘King' Rupilius. This wealthy Persius had big business interests In Clazomenae, and a tricky lawsuit with Rex. He was a tough, who outdid the ‘King' in rudeness, Arrogant, loud, his abuse so scorching it outran a Barrus Or a Sisenna, and flashed by as swift as white lightning. Back to Rex. When they'd failed to reach an agreement (Since those who quarrel are all quite rightly like heroes Who meet in battle face to face: the hostility Between Priam's son Hector, and angry Achilles Was so fierce, that only d**h could divide them, And for no other reason than that the courage Of each was supreme: while if two cowards quarrel Or ill-matched opponents fight in war, like Diomed And Lycian Glaucus, the lesser man gives way, even Sends gifts), while Brutus was praetor then for rich Asia, Persius and Rupilius fought as equals, no worse matched Than Bacchius and Bithus the gladiators, rushing Fiercely to court, both of them wonderful sights to see. Persius made his case: laughter from all the gathering: He praises Brutus, he praises his staff, calls Brutus The Sun of Asia, and all his suite health-giving stars, Except for Rex: he's arrived as Sirius the Dog-star, A star that's hated by countrymen. On he rushes Like a wintry torrent, where an axe is never heard. Then the ‘King' of Praeneste, faced with that outpour Of wit, hurled back abuse they squeeze from the vineyard, Like a tough and indomitable vine-cutter, routing A pa**er-by who shouts ‘Cuckoo, you're pruning late!' But Persius the Greek, drenched now with Italian vinegar, Shouts: Brutus, by all the gods, you and your clan Are used to finishing kings, can't you slit this one's throat? Believe me, this is a task that's perfect for you!'