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This man his home regains;

Brings benefit far and near

To all who may hold him dear,

And staunches his country's tear,—

All because of his brains!

Then never with Socrates

Make one of the row of fools

Who gabble away at ease,

Letting art and music freeze,

And freely neglect

In every respect

The drama's principal rules!

Oh, to sit in a gloomy herd

A-scraping of word on word,

All idle and all absurd,—

That is the fate of fools!

Then farewell, Aeschylus! Go your ways,

And save your town for happier days

By counsel wise; and a school prepare

For all the fools—there are plenty there!

And take me some parcels, I pray; this sword

Is for Cleophon; these pretty ropes for the Board

Of Providers. But ask them one halter to spare

For Nicomachus; one, too, is Myrmex's share.

And, along with this venomous

Draught for Archenomus,

Take them my confident prayer,