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However, try me, whether I can part
From all your bounty with a cheerful heart.
The youth, whose sire such various woes had
To Menelaus, not unwise, replied,
"Our island hath no rich and fertile plain,
No wide-extended course, in which to train
The generous horse; then grant me to refuse
A present, that you better know to use."
For little folks become their little fate,
And, at my age, not Rome's imperial seat,
But soft Tarentum's more delicious ease,
Or Tibur's solitude, my taste, can please.

Philip, whose youth was spent in feats of war,

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Now grown a famous lawyer at the bar,
Returning from the courts one sultry day,
Complain'd, how tedious was the lengthen'd way
To folks in years; then wistfully survey'd
A new-trimm'd spark, who, joying in the shade,
Loll'd in a barber's shop, with ease reclin'd,
And par'd his nails, right indolent of mind.
" Demetrius" (so was call'd his favorite slave,
For such commissions a right-trusty knave),
"Run and inquire of yonder fellow straight,
His name, friends, country, patron, and estate."
He goes, returns, and-" Menas is his name;
Of moderate fortune, but of honest fame;
A public crier, who a thousand ways
Bustles to get, and then enjoys his ease.
A boon companion 'mongst his equals known,
And the small house he lives in is his own.
His business over, to the public shows,
Or to the field of Mars, he sauntering goes."

But when his goats by sickness, and by thieves
His sheep are lost, his crop his hope deceives,
When his one ox is kifl'd beneath the yoke,
Such various losses his best spirits broke.
At midnight dragging out his only horse,
He drives to Philip's house his desperate course;
Who, when he saw him rough, deform'd with bar,
"Your ardent love of pelf, your too much eare
Hath surely brought you to this dismal plight
"Oh! call the wretch, if you would call me right,
But let this wretch your clemency implore,
By your good genius; by each heavenly power
By that right hand, sufe never pledg'd in vain,
Restore to me my former life again."

To his first state let him return with speed,
Who sees how far the joys he left exceed
His present choice for all should be confin'd
Within the bounds which nature hath assign'd.

EPISTLE VIII.

TO CELSUS ALBINOVANUS.

To Celsus, Muse, my warmest wishes bear, And if he kindly ask you how I fare, Say, though I threaten many a fair design, Nor happiness, nor wisdom, yet are mine. Not that the driving hail my vineyards beat; Not that my olives are destroy'd with heat; Not that my cattle pine in distant plainsMore in my mind than body lie my pains. Reading I hate, and with unwilling ear The voice of comfort or of health I hear: Friends or physicians I with pain endure, Who strive this languour of my soul to cure. Whate'er may hurt me, I with joy pursue; Whate'er may do me good, with horrour view.

"Methinks, I long to see this wondrous wight. Bid him be sure to sup with me to night." Menas, with awkward wonder, scarce believes The courteous invitation he receives:

At last politely begs to be encus'd"And am I then with insolence refus'd ???

"Whether from too much fear, or too much pride, Inconstant as the wind, I various rove; I know not, but he flatly has denied."

At Tibur, Rome; at Rome 1 Tibur love.

Philip next morn our honest pedlar found

Dealing his iron merchandise around

Ask how he does; what happy arts support His prince's favour, nor offend the court;

To his small chaps; --the first good-morrow gave; If all be well, say first, that we rejoice,

Menas confus'd-" Behold a very slave,
To business chain'd, or I should surely wait

An early client at your worship's gate;
Or had I first perceiv'd you as I live"-
"Well, sup with me to-night, and I forgive
All past neglect. Be punctual to your hour;
Remember, I expect you just at four.
Till then farewell; your growing fortunes mend,
And know me for your servant and your friend.

And then, remember, with a gentle voice Instil this precept on his list'ning ear. "As you your fortune, we shall Celsus bear."

د

Behold him now at supper, where he said, Or right or wrong, what came into his head. When Philip saw his eager gudgeon bite, At morn an early client, and at night A certain guest, his project to complete, He takes him with him to his country seat. On horseback now he aimbles at his ease, The soil, the climate, his incessant praise.

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Philip, who well observ'd our simple guest, Laughs in his sleeve, resolved to have his jest At any rate; then lends him fifty pound, And promis'd fifty more, to buy a spot of ground. But, that our tale no longer be delay'd, [made Bought is the ground, and our spruce merchant A very rustic; now, at endless rate, Vineyards and furrows are his constant prate. He plants his elms for future vines to rise, Grows old with care, and on the prospect dies.

EPISTLE IX.

TO CLAUDIUS NERO.

SEPTIMIUS only knows, at least would seem
To know, the rank 1 hold in your esteem;
Then asks, nay more, compels me to present him
(Nor will a moderate share of praise content him)
Worthy of Nero's family, and heart,
Where only men of merit claim a part.
When fondly he persuades himself I hold
A place among your nearer friends enroll'd,
Much better than myself he sees and knows
How far my interest with Tiberius goes.

A thousand things I urg'd to be excus'd,
Though fearful, if too warmly I refus'd,
I might, perhaps, a mean dissembler seem,
To make a property of your esteem.

Thus have I with a friend's request complied,
And on the confidence of courts relied:
If you forgive me, to your heart receive
The man I love, and know him good and brave.

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To Fuscus, who in city sports delights, A country-bard with gentle greeting writes; In this we differ, but in all beside, Like twin-born brothers, are our souls And, as a pair of fondly-constant doves, What one dislikes, the other disapproves. You keep the nest, I love the rural mead, The brook, the mossy rock, and woody glade; In short I live and reign, whene'er I fly The joys you yaunt with rapture to the sky, And like a slave, from the priest's service fled, I nauseate honied cakes, and long for bread. Would you to Nature's laws obedience yield; Would you a house for health or pleasure build, Where is there such a situation found,

1

As when the country spreads its blessings round?
Where is th' intemperate winter less severe ?
Or, when the sun ascending fires the year,
Where breathes a milder zephyr to assuage
The Dog-star's fury, or the Lion's rage?
Where do less envious cares disturb our rest?
Or are the fields, in Nature's colours drest,
Less grateful to the smell, or to the sight,
Than the rich floor, with inlaid marble bright?
Is water purer from the bursting lead,
Than gently murmuring down its native bed?
Among your columns rich with various dyes,
Unnatural woods with awkward art arise:
You praise the house, whose situation yields
An open prospect to the distant fields;
For Nature, driven out with proud disdain,
All powerful goddess, will return again;
Return in silent triumph, to deride
The weak attempts of luxury and pride.

The man, who cannot with judicious eye Discern the fleece, that drinks the Tyrian dye, From the pale Latian; yet shall ne'er sustain A loss so touching of such heart-felt pain, As he, who can't, with sense of happier kind, Distinguish truth from falsehood in the mind.

N

They who in Fortune's smiles too much delight, Shall tremble when the goddess takes her flight; For, if her gifts our fouder passions gain, The frail possession we resign with pain.

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Then fly from grandeur, and the haughty great;

The cottage offers a secure retreat.
Where you may make that heart-felt bliss your
To kings, and favourites of kings, unknown, [own
A lordly stag, arm'd with superior force,
Drove from their common field a vanquish'd horse,
Who, for revenge, to man his strength enslav'd,
Took up his rider, and the bitt receiv'd:

But though he conquer'd in the martial strife,..
He felt his rider's weight, and champ'd the bitt

for life.

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So he, who poverty with horrour views,
Nor frugal Nature's beauty knows to use;
Who sells his freedom in exchange for gold
(Freedom, for mines of wealth too cheaply sold),
Shall make eternal servitude his fate,
And feel a haughty master's galling weight.
Our fortunes and our shoes are near allied;
Pinch'd in the strait, we stumble in the wide.
Cheerful and wise, your present lot enjoy,
And on my head your just rebukes employ,

1

If e'er forgetful of my former self,
I toil to raise unnecessary pelf.
Gold is the slave, or tyrant, of the soul;
Unworthy to command, it better brooks controul.
These lines bebind Vacuna's fane I penn'd,
Sincerely blest, but that I want my friend.

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You tell me, Lebedus is now become
A desert, like our villages at home,
Yet there you gladly fix your future lot,
Your friends forgetting, by your friends forgot;
Enjoy the calm of life, and, safe on shore,
At distance hear the raging tempest roar.

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A traveller, though wet with dirt and rain, Would not for ever at an inn remain, Or chill'd with cold, and joying in the heat Of a warm bath, believe his bliss complete. Though by strong winds your bark were tempestSay, would you sell it on a distant coast? Believe me, at delicious Rhodes to live To a sound mind no greater bliss can give, Than a thick coat in summer's burning ray, Or a light mantle on a snowy day, Or to a swimmer Tiber's freezing stream, Or sunny rooms in August's mid-day flame. While yet 'tis in your power; while Fortune smiles, At Rome with rapture vaunt those happy isles, Then with a grateful hand the bliss receive, If Heaven an hour more fortunate shall give. Seize on the present joy, and thus possess, Where'er you live, an inward happiness.

If reason only can our cares allay,
Not the bold site, that wide commands the sea;
If they, who through the venturous ocean range,
Not their own passions, but the climate change;
Anxious through seas and land to search for rest
Is but laborious idleness at best.

In desert Ulubræ the bliss you'll find,
If you preserve a firm and equal mind.

by

EPISTLE XI.

TO ICCIUS.

WHILE Iccius farms Agrippa's large estate, If he with wisdom can enjoy his fate, No greater riches Jove himself can give; Then cease complaining, friend, and learn to live. He is not poor to whom kind Fortune grants, Even with a frugal hand, what Nature wants.

Are you with food, and warmth, and raiment Not royal treasures are of more possest; [blest? And if, for herbs and shell-fish at a feast, You leave the various luxuries of taste, Should Fate enrich you with a golden stream, Your life and manners would be still the same:

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That all his neighbours' flocks and herds should The sage's harvest, while without its weight [eat His spirit rov'd abroad, shall ne'er be told As wonderful; since, not debas'd by gold And its infection, Iccius, bravely wise, Spurns this vile earth, and soars into the skies; Curious to search, what bounds old ocean's tides; What through the various year the seasons guides: Whether the stars by their own proper force, Or foreign power, pursue, their wandering course; Why shadows darken the pale queen of night; Whence she renews her orb, and a spreads her lights What nature's jarring sympathy ca an, [tain. And who, among the wise, their systems best inainBut whether slaughter' 'd onions crown your board,

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Or murder'd fish an impious feast east afforded
Receive Pompeius Grosphus to your heart,
beart,
And, ere he asks, your willing aid impart of N
He ne'er shall make a bold, unjust request,n
And friends are cheap, when good men are distrest.

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Now condescend to hear the public news: Agrippa's war the sons of Spain subdues, The fierce Armenian Nero's virtue feels: Short by the knees the haughty Parthian kneels: Again the monarch is by Cæsar erown'd, And Plenty pours her golden harvest round.

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EPISTLE XIII., 965 761
TO VINIOS ASELevel Iter")
I b seed to

VINIUS, I oft desir'd you, ere you went
Well seal'd my rhyming volumes to present 2
When Cæsar's high in health, in spirits gay,
Or if he ask to read th' unoffer'd lay,
Lest you offend with too officious zealand mell
And my poor works his just resentment feel d'
Throw down the burden, if it gall your back,
Nor at the palace fiercely break the pack,
Lest my dear ass become the laughing sport,
The quibbling fable of the wits at courts? T
Through rivers, steeps, and fens, exert your force,
Nor, when you're victor of the destin'd counse;"
Under your arm the letter'd bundle bear,

As rustics do their lambs, with awkward aint toy Or Pyrrhia, reeling from the drunken bowladag Conveys away the ball of wool she stole;9200qu? Or, in his pride, a tribe-invited guest 167 1970 1 Carries his cap and slippers to a feastaset adi Nor loud proclaim, with how much toil you bear Such verse, as may detain even Cæsar's car, Farewell, make haste; and special caution take, Lest you should stumble, and my orders break,

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Though Lamia's pidus tears, that ceaseless moun His brother's death, have hinder'd my return Thither my warmest wishes bend their force, Start from the goal, and beat the distant course. Rome is your raptare, mine the rural seat,

Pleas'd with each other's fot, our own we bate
But both afe fools, and fools in like extreme;
Guiltless the place that we injustly blame,
For in the mind althelour fotkes the 66
The mind that never from feel feat y۹۱۸
A slave at Rome, and discontented there, INT
country-life was once your silent placer
A rustic gro
your first destres retorng
For Rome, her public games and baths,
More constant

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to myself, Tleave with pain, די

By hateful business fore the rural beeber

From different objects our desires arise And thence the distance that between us lies; For what you call inhospitably dearywe To me with beauty and delight appear... Full well I know a tavern's greasy steam, And a vile stew, with jhe your heart inflame, While my small farm yields rather herbs than vines, Nor there a neighbouring tavern pours its wines, Nor harlot minstrel sings, when the rude sound Tempts you with heavy heels to thump the ground.

But you complain, that with unceasing toil You break, alas! the long unbroken soil, Or loose the wearied oxen from the plough, And feed with leaves new-gather'd from the bough Then feels your laziness an added pain, If e'er the rivulet be swolu with rain; What mighty mounds against its force you rear, To teach its rage the sunny mead to spare!

Now hear, from whence our sentiments divide: In youth, perhaps with not ungraceful pride, I wore a silken robe, perfum'd my hair, And without presents charm'd the venal fair: From early morning quaff'd the flowing glass; Now a short supper charms, or on the grass To tay me down at some fair river's side, And sweetly slumber as the waters glide; Nor do I blush to own my follies past, But own those follies should no longer last.

None there with eye askance my pleasures views. With hatred dark, of poison'd spite pursues My neighbours langh to see with how much toil I carry stones, or break the stobhord soil-t You with my city-slaves wonkt gladly join, And on thew daily pittance hardl gadine qui est While more refin'd they view with envious eye The gardens, horses, fires, that you enjoy.

Thus the slow ex would gaudy trappings claim, The sprightly horse would plough amidst the team By my advice, letzeaciuwith cheerful heart, As best he understands, employ his art. aisten mieί ναι η κυπροσ DOOS, КВА

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OF HORACE'S EPISTLES, BOOK 1.

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air Are Velia's winters, and Saleruum's air: The genius of the folks, the roads how Which eats the better, bread, and when a flood Of rain descends, which quafis the the gather'd their fountains purer water pour? Their country-vintage is not worth my care, stoff

Or do

shower,

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I bear,

For though at home, whatever wine,
At sea-port towns I shall expect to find
My wines of generous and of smoother kind,
To drive away my cares, and to the soul,
Through the full veins, with golden hopes to ro roll;
With flowing language to inspire my tongue,
And make the listening fair-one think me young.
With hares or boars which country's best sup-
Which seas their better fish luxurious hide [plied?
That I may home return in luscious plight
'Tis ours to credit, as 'tis yours to write.

When Mænius had consum'd, with gallant heart,
A large estate, he took the jester's ant: fed
A vagrant zany, of no certain manger,
Who knew not, ere he din'd, or friend, or stranger:
Cruel, and scurrilous to all, his jest,
ORT
The ruin'd butcher's gulf, a storin, a pesti 199 H
Whate'er he got his ravening guts receive
And when or friend or foe no longer gave,
A lamb's fat paunch was a delicious treat,
As much as three voracious bears could eat;
Then, like reformer Bestius, would he tell
That gluttons should be branded on the belly. A

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But if, perchance, he found some richer fare,, Instant it vanish'd into smoke and air" By Jove I wonder not, that folks should eat, At one delicious meal, a whole estate, For a fat thrush is most delightful food,

And

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a swine's paunch superlatively good." Thus I, when better entertainments fail, Bravely commend a plain and frugal meal; On cheaper suppers show myself full wise. But if some dainties more luxurious rise ** Right sage and happy they alone, whose fate Gives thema splendid house, and large estate."

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Ask not, good Quinctius, if my farm maintain
Its wealthy master with abundant grain,
With fruits or pastures; ask not, if the vine
Around its bridegroom-elum laxuriant twine,
For I'll describe, and in loquacious strain,
The site and figure of the pleasing scene.

A chain of mountains with a vale diziden va
That opens to the Sun on either side:
The right wide spreading to the rising day
The left is warm'd beneath his setting ray.1
How mild the clime, where sloes luxurious grow,
And blushing cornels on the hawthorn glow!
My cattle are with plenteous acorns fed,

Whose various oaks around their master spread; |

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Well might you swear, that bere Tarentum waves
Its dusky shade, and pours forth all its leaves.
A fountain to a rivulet gives its name,
Cooler and purer than a Thracian stream;
Useful to case an aching head it flows,
Or when with burning pains the stomach glows.
This pleasing, this delicious soft retreat
In safety guards ine from September's heat.
Would you be happy, be the thing you seem,
And sure you now possess the world's esteem;
Nor yet to others too much credit give,
But in your own opinion learn to live;
For know, the bliss in our own judgment lies,
And none are happy but the good and wise.
Nor, tho the crowd pronounce your health is good,
Disguise the fever lurking in your blood,
Till trembling seize you at th' unfinish'd meal-
Ideots alone their ulcer'd ills conceal.

[ears,

Should some bold flatterer sooth your listening
"The conquer'd world, dread sir, thy name reveres;
And Jove our guardian god, with power divine,
Who watches o'er Rome's happiness and thine,
Yet holds it doubtful, whether Rome or you,
With greater warmth, each other's good pursue."
This praise, you own, is sacred Cæsar's fame ;
But can you answer to your proper name,
When you are call'd th' accomplish'd or the wise,
Names, which we all with equal ardour prize?
Yet he, who gives to day, this heedless praise,
Shall take it back to-morrow, if he please.
As when the people from some worthless knave
Can tear away the consulship they gave;

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Lay down the name of wisdom, sir, 'tis mine;" Confus'd I leave him, and his gifts resign. What if he said, I hang'd my aged sire, Call'd me a thief, a slave to lewd desire, Shall I be tortur'd with unjust disgrace, Or change the guilty colours of my face? False praise can charm, unreal shame controlWhom, but a vicious or a sickly soul? Who then is good?

OLOQUINCTIUS.

Who carefully observes

The senate's wise decrees, nor ever swerves From the known rules of justice and the laws : Whose bail secures, whose oath decides a cause,

HORACE.

Yet his own house, his neighbours, through his art
Behold an inward baseness in his heart.
Suppose a slave should say, " I never steal,
I never ran away" Nor do you feel
The flagrant lash" Nó human blood I shed"-
"Nor on the cross the ravening crows have fed."

But, sir, I am an honest slave, and wise"
"My Sabine neighbour there the fact denies.
For wily wolves the fatal pitfall fear;
Kites fly the bait, and hawks the latent snare;
But virtuous minds a love of virtue charms:
The fear of chastisement thy guilt alarms.
When from my stores you steal one grain of wheat,
My loss indeed is less, your crime as great."

Your honest man, ou whom with awful praise The forum and the courts of justice gaze, If e'er he make a public sacrifice, Dread Janus, Phœbus, clear and loud he cries; But when his prayer in earnest is preferr'd Scarce moves his lips, afraid of being heard, "Beauteous Laverna, my petition hear; Let me with truth and sanctity appear:

Oh! give me to deceive, and with a veil
Of darkness and of night my crimes conceal."

Behold the miser bending down to earth
For a poor farthing, which the boys in mirth.
Fix'd to the ground; and shall the caitiff dare
In honest freedom with a slave compare?
Whoever wishes is with fear possest,
And he, who holds that passion in his breast,
Is in my sense a slave; hath left the post

Own a superior, and yet proudly vaunt,
Imperious cynic, that you nothing want."

Yet Aristippus every dress became:
In every various change of life the same
And though he aim'd at things of higher kind,
Yet to the present held an equal mind.
But that a man, whom patience taught to wear:
A thick, coarse coat, should ever learn to bear
A change of life with decency and ease,

1

Where virtue plac'd him, and his arms hath lost May justly, I confess, our wonder raise.

To purchase hasty wealth, his force applies, And overwhelm'd beneath his burthen lies.

1

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Yet Aristippus, though but meanly drest, Nor wants, nor wishes for, a purple vest; He walks, regardless of the public gaze, And knows in every character to please; But neither dog's nor snake's envenom'd bite Can, like a silken robe, the Cynic fright. "Give him his mantle, or he dies with cold-" Nay, give it, let the fool his blessing hold." In glorious war a triumph to obtain, Celestial honours, and a seat shall gain Fast by the throne of Jove; nor mean the praise These deities of human kind to please.

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Are you with tranquil, easy pleasure blest, Or after sun-rise love an hour of rest, If dusty streets, the rattling chariot's noise, l Or if the neighbouring tavern's midnight joys, Delight you not, by my advice retreaty bek To the calm raptures of a rural seat: ELDO For pleasure's not confin'd to wealth alone, Nor ill he lives, who lives and dies unknown; T But would you serve your friends, and joyous waste The bounteous hour, perfume you for the feast.

"His patient herbs could Aristippus eat, He had disdain'd the tables of the great, od to " And he, who censures me," the sage replies, "If he could live with kings, would herbs despise." Tell me, which likes you best, or younger, hear, Why Aristippus' maxims best appear; For with the snarling cynic well he play'd, "I am my own buffoon, you take the trade p To please the crowd; yet sure 'tis better pride, Maintain'd by monarchs, on my horse to ride. But while at court observant I attend, For things of vileness you submissive, bend

"But, 'midst the storms and tempests of a court, Not every one shall reach the wish'd-for port; And sure the man, who doubts of his success, Wisely declines th' attempt."-Then you confess, That who succeeds, thus difficult his part, Gives the best proof of courage, as of art.

Then, here, or no where, we the truth shall find; Conscious how weak in body, or in mind, When we behold the burthen with despair, Which others boldly try, with spirit bear, If virtue's aught beyond an empty name, Rewards and honours they with justice claim.

In silence who their poverty conceal, More than th' importunate, with kings prevail: And whether we with modest action take, Or snatch the favour, may some difference make

From this fair fountain our best profits rise: For, when with plaintive tone a suppliant cries, My sister lies unportion'd on my hands; My mother's poor, nor can I sell my lands, Or they maintain me;" might he not have said, "Give me, ah! give me, sir, my daily bread P While he, who hears him, chants on t'other side, "With me your bounty, ah! with me divide:" But had the crow his food in silence eat, Less had his quarrels been, and more his meat. A jaunt of pleasure should my lord intend, And with him deign to take an humble friend, To talk of broken roads, of cold and rain, Or of his plunder'd baggage to complain, Is but the trick, which wily harlots try, Who for a bracelet, or a necklace, cry; So oft they weep, that we believe no more When they with tears a real loss deplore.

He, whom a lying lameness once deceives, No more the falling(vagabond believes; And though with streaming tears the caitiff cries,

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Help me, ah heruel, help a wretch to rise Though loud he swean, Indeed my leg is broke; By great Osiris, Leno donger joked??

Yet the boarse village answers to his cries, "Go, find a stranger to believe your lies."

EPISTLE XVIII,

TO LOLLIUS..

LOLI Ius, if well I know your heart, Your liberal spirit scorns an art

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