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 Kept as bride in reservation For some favour'd near relation.— But enough now: I must tread Where my feet and eyes are led; Dropping at each door a strain, Let me lose my suit or gain. Then search, worthy gentles, the cupboard's close nook: To the lord, and still more to the lady we look: Custom warrants the suit—let it still then bear sway; And your crow, as in duty most bounden, shall pray.

The same.

Good people, a handful of barley bestow On the bearers about of the sable crow— Apollo's daughter she— But if the barley-heap wax low, Still kindly let your bounty flow, And of the yellow grains that grow On the wheaten stalk be free. Or a well-kneaded loaf or an obolos give, Or what you will, for the crow must live. If the gods have been bountiful to you to-day, Oh, say not to her for whom we sing, Say not, we implore you, nay, To the bird of the cloudy wing. A grain of salt will please her well, And whoso this day that bestows, May next day give (for who can tell?) A comb from which the honey flows. But come, come, what need we say more? Open the door, boy, open the door, For Plutus has heard our prayers. And see, through the porch, a damsel, as sweet As the winds that play round the flowery feet Of Ida, comes the crow to meet, And a basket of figs she bears. Oh, may this maiden happy be, And from care and sorrow free; Let her all good fortune find, And a husband rich and kind.