Page:Satires, Epistles, Art of Poetry of Horace - Coningsby (1874).djvu/149

Rh Sunstrokes have spared my olives, hail my vines; No herd of mine in far-off pasture pines: Yet ne'ertheless I suffer; hourly teased Less by a body than a mind diseased, No ear have I to hear, no heart to heed The words of wisdom that might serve my need, Frown on my doctors, with the friends am wroth Who fain would rouse me from my fatal sloth, Seek what has harmed me, shun what looks of use, Town-bird at Tibur, and at Rome recluse. Then ask him how his health is, how he fares, How prospers with the prince and his confrères. If he says Well, first tell him you rejoice, Then add one little hint (but drop your voice), "As Celsus bears his fortune well or ill, So bear with Celsus his acquaintance will."



EPTIMIUS, Nero, seems to comprehend, As none else does, how you esteem your friend: For when he begs, nay, forces me, good man, To move you in his favour, if I can, As not unfit the heart and home to share Of Claudius, who selects his staff with care,