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 Thou thy palace shalt behold, Bright with ivory and gold; While each ship that ploughs the main, Fill'd with Egypt's choicest grain, Shall unload her pon'drous store, Thirsty comrade! at thy door.

(Book ii. § 30, p. 79.)

How I delight To spring upon the dainty coverlets; Breathing the perfume of the rose, and steep'd In tears of myrrh!—

(Book ii. § 44, p. 90.)

Mean my husband is, and poor, And my blooming days are o'er. Children have we two,—a boy, Papa's pet and mamma's joy; And a girl, so tight and small, With her nurse;—that's five in all: Yet, alas! alas! have we Belly timber but for three! Two must, therefore, often make Scanty meal on barley-cake; And sometimes, when nought appears On the board, we sup on tears. My good man, once so strong and hale, On this fare grows very pale; For our best and daintiest cheer, Through the bright half of the year, Is but acorns, onions, peas, Ochros, lupines, radishes, Vetches, wild pears nine or ten, With a locust now and then. As to figs, the Phrygian treat, Fit for Jove's own guests to eat, They, when happier moments shine,— They, the Attic figs, are mine.—