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And yet Lucretia's fate would bar that vow:
And fair Virginia would her fate bestow
On Rutila; and change her faultless make
For the foul rumple of her carnel-back.

But, for his mother's boy the beau, what frights
His parents have by day, what anxious nights!
Form, join'd with virtue, is a sight too rare:
Chasté is no epithet to suit with fair.
Suppose the same traditionary strain
Of rigid manners, in the house remain ;
Inveterate truth, an old plain Sabine's heart;
Suppose that Nature, too, has done her part:
Infus'd into his soul a sober grace,
And blush'd a modest blood into his face,
(For Nature is a better guardian far,
Than saucy pedants, or dull tutors are :)
Yet still the youth must ne'er arrive at man ;
(So much almighty bribes, and presents, can;)
Ev'n with a parent, where persuasions fail,
Money is impudent, and will prevail.

We never read of such a tyrant king Who gelt a boy deform'd, to hear him sing. Nor Nero, in his more luxurious rage, E'er made a mistress of an ugly page: Sporus, his spouse, nor crooked was, nor lame, With mountain-back, and belly, from the game Cross-barr'd: but both his sexes well became. Go, boast your Springal, by his beauty curst To ills; nor think I have declar'd the worst; His form procures him journey-work; a strife Betwixt town-madams, and the merchant's wife: Guess, when he undertakes this public war, What furious beasts offended cuckolds are.

Adulterers are with dangers round beset; Born under Mars, they cannot 'scape the net; And from revengeful husbands oft have try'd Worse handling, than severest laws provide: One stabs; one slashes; one, with cruel art, Makes Colon suffer for the peccant part.

[boy,

But your Endymion, your smooth, smock'd-fac'd Unrival'd, shall a beauteous dame enjoy: Not so, one more fallacious, rich, and old, Outbids, and buys her pleasure for her gold; Now he must moil and drudge, for one he loaths; She keeps him high, in equipage and clothes : She pawns her jewels, and her rich attire, And thinks the workman worthy of his hire: In all things else immoral, stingy, mean; But, in her lusts, a conscionable quean.

She may be handsome, yet be chaste, you say; Good observator, not so fast away: Did it not cost the modest youth his life, Who shunn'd th' embraces of his father's wife? And was not th' other stripling forc'd to fly, Who coldly did his patron's queen deny; And pleaded laws of hospitality?

The ladies charg'd them home, and turn'd the tale, With shame they redden'd, and with spite grew pale.

'Tis dangerous to deny the longing dame;
She loses pity, who has lost her shame.

Now Silius wants thy counsel, gives advice;
Wed Cesar's wife, or die; the choice is nice.
Her cornet-eyes she darts on every grace;
And takes a fatal liking to his face.

Adorn'd with bridal pomp she sits in state;
The public notaries and aruspex wait:
The genial bed is in the garden 'drest:
The portion paid, and every rite exprest,
Which in a Roman marriage is prof st.

'Tis no stol'n wedding, this, rejecting awe,
She scorns to marry, but in form of law:
In this moot case, your judgment: to refuse,
Is present death, besides the night you lose:
If you consent, 'tis hardly worth your pain;
A day or two of anxious life you gain:

Till loud reports through all the town have past,
And reach the prince: for cuckolds hear the last.
Indulge thy pleasure, youth, and take thy swing;
For not to take is but the self-same thing:
Inevitable death before thee lies;

But looks more kindly through a lady's eyes.
What then remains? Are we depriv'd of will,
Must we not wish, for fear of wishing ill?
Receive my counsel, and securely move;
Intrust thy fortune to the powers above.
Leave them to manage for thee, and to grant
What their unerring wisdom sees thee want:
In goodness, as in greatness, they excel;
Ah, that we lov'd ourselves but half so well!
We, blindly by our headstrong passions led,
Are hot for action, and desire to wed;
Then wish for heirs: but to the gods alone
Our future offspring, and our wiyes, are known;
Th' audacious strumpet, and ungracious son.
Yet not to rob the priests of pious gain,
That altars be not wholly built in vain ;
Forgive the gods the rest, and stand confim'd
To health of body, and content of mind:
A soul, that can securely death defy,
And count it Nature's privilege to die;
Serene and manly, harden'd to sustain
The load of life, and exercis'd in pain:
Guiltless of hate, and proof against desire;
That all things weighs, and nothing can admire :
That dares prefer the toils of Hercules
To dalliance, banquet, and ignoble ease.

The path to peace is virtue: what I show,
Thyself may freely on thyself bestow :
Fortune was never worship'd by the wise;
But, set aloft by fools, usurps the skies.

THE SIXTEENTH SATIRE OF

JUVENAL.

THE ARGUMENT.

THE poet, in this satire, proves, that the condition of a soldier is much better than that of a countryman: first, because a countryman, however affronted, provoked, and struck himself, dares not strike a soldier; who is only to be judged by a court-martial, and by the law of Camillas, which obliges him not to quarrel without the trenches; he is also assured to have a speedy hearing, and quick dispatch: whereas, the townsman or peasaut is delayed in his suit by frivolous pretences, and not sure of justice when he bis heard in the court: the soldier is also privileged to make a will, and to give away his estate, which he got in war, to whom he pleases, without consideration of parentage, or relations; which is denied to all other Romans. This satire was written by Juvenal, when he was a come mander in Egypt: it is certainly his, though think it not finished. And if it be well observed,

you will find he intended an invective against a standing army.

WHAT vast prerogatives, my Gallus, are
Accruing to the mighty man of war!
For, if into a lucky camp I light,
Though raw in arms, and yet afraid to fight,
Befriend me, my good stars, and all goes right:
One happy hour is to a soldier better,
Than mother Juno's recommending letter,
Or Venus, when to Mars she would prefer
My suit, and own the kindness done to her.
See what our common privileges are:
As, first, no saucy citizen should dare

To strike a soldier, nor, when struck, resent
The wrong, for fear of farther punishment:
Not though his teeth are beaten out. his eyes
Hang by a string, in bumps his forehead 'rise,
Shall he presume to mention his disgrace,
Or beg amends for his demolish'd face.
A booted j: dge shall sit to try his cause,
Not by the statute, but by martial laws;
Which old Camillus order'd, to confine
The brawls of soldiers to the trench and line:
A wise provision; and from thence 'tis clear,
That officers a soldier's cause should hear:
And, taking cognizance of wrongs receiv'd,
An honest man may hope to be reliev'd.
So far 'tis well: but with a general cry,
The regiment will rise in mutiny,
The freedom of their fellow-rogue demand,
And, if refus'd, will threaten to disband.
Withdraw thy action, and depart in peace;
The remedy is worse than the disease:
This cause is worthy him, who in the hall
Would for his fee, and for his client, bawl:
But wouldst thou, friend, who hast two legs alone,
(Which, Heaven be prais'd, thou yet may'st call

thy own)

Would'st thou, to run the gauntlet, these expose
To a whole company of hob-nail'd shoes?
Sure the good-breeding of wise citizens

Should teach them more good-nature to their shins.

Besides, whom can'st thou think so much thy
friend,

Who dares appear thy business to defend ?
Dry up thy tears, and pocket up th' abuse,
Nor put thy friend to make a bad excuse.
The judge cries out, "Your eviden e produce."
Will he, who saw the soldier's mutton-fist,
And saw thee maul'd, appear within the list,
To witness truth? When I see one so brave,
The dead, think I, are risen from the grave;
And with their long spade beards, and matted hair,
Our honest ancestors are come to take the air.
Against a clown, with more security,

A witness may be brought to swear a lie,
Than, though his evidence be full and fair,
To vouch a truth against a man of war.

More benefits remain, and claim'd as rights,
Which are a standing army's perquisites.
If any rogue vexatious suits advance
Against me for my known inheritance,
Enter by violence my fruitful grounds,

Or take the sacred land-mark from my bounds, Those bounds, which with possession and with prayer,

And offer'd cakes, have been my annual care

Or if my debtors do not keep their day,
Deny their bands, and then refuse to pay;
I must, with patience, all the terms attend,
Among the common causes that depend,
Till mine is call'd; and that long look'd-for day
Js still encumber'd with some new delay:
Perhaps the cloth of state is only spread,
Some of the quorum may be sick a-bed;
That judge is hot, and doffs his gown, while this
O'er night was bowsy, and goes out to piss:
So many rubs appear, the time is gone
For hearing, and the tedious suit goes on:
But buff and belt-men never know these cares,
No time, nor trick of law their action bars:
Their cause they to an easier issue put:
They will be heard, or they lug out, and cut.
Another branch of their revenue still
Remains, beyond their boundless right to kill,
Their father yet alive, impower'd to take a will.
For, what their prowess gain'd the law declares
Is to themselves alone, and to their heirs :
No share of that goes back to the begetter,
But if the son fights well, and plunders better,
Like stout Coranus, his old shaking sire
Does a remembrance in his will desire:
Inquisitive of fights, and longs in vain
To find him in the number of the slain :
But still be lives, and, rising by the war,
Enjoys his gains, and has enough to spare:
For 'tis a noble general's prudent part
To cherish valour, and reward desert:
Let him be daub'd with lace, live high, and whore;
Sometimes be lousy, but be never poor.

TRANSLATIONS FROM PERSIUS.

THE FIRST SATIRE OF

PERSIUS.

ARGUMENT OF THE PROLOGUE TO THE FIRST
SATIRE.

THE design of the author was to conceal his name and quality. He lived in the dangerous times of the tyrant Nero; and aims particularly at him in most of his satires. For which reason, though he was a Roman knight, and of a plentiful fortune, he would appear in this prologue. but a beggerly poet, who writes for bread. After this, he breaks into the business of the first satire; which is chiefly to decry the poetry then in fashion, and the impudence of those who, were endeavouring to pass their stuff upon the world.

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Heedless of verse, and hopeless of the crown,
Scarce half a wit, and more than half a clown,
Before the shrine I lay my rugged numbers down.
Who taught the parrot human notes to try
Or with a voice endued the chattering pye?
'Twas witty want, fierce hunger to appease
Want taught their masters, and their masters these.
Let gain, that gilded bait, be hung on high,
The hungry witlings have it in their eye:
Pyes, crows, and daws, poetic presents bring:
You say they squeak; but they will swear they sing.

ARGUMENT OF THE FIRST SATIRE.

I NEED not repeat, that the chief aim of the author is against bad poets in this satire. But I must add, that he includes also bad orators, who began at that time (as Petronius in the beginning of his book tells us) to enervate manly eloquence, by tropes and figures, ill placed and worse applied. Amongst the poets, Persius covertly strikes at Nero; some of whose verses he recites with scorn and indignation. He also takes notice of the noblemen and their abominable poetry, who, in the luxury of their fortunes, set up for wits and judges. The satire is in dialogue, betwixt the author and his friend or monitor; who dissuades him from this dangerous attempt of exposing great men. But Persius, who is of a free spirit, and has not forgotten that Rome was once a commonwealth, breaks through all those difficulties, and boldly arraigns the false judgment of the age in which he lives. The reader may observe that our poet was a stoic philosopher; and that all his moral sentences, both here and in all the rest of his satires, are drawn from the dogmas of that sect.

THE FIRST SATIRE

IN DIALOGUE BETWIXT THE POET AND HIS
FRIEND OR MONITOR.

PERSIUS.

How anxious are our cares, and yet how vain
The bent of our desires!

FRIEND. Thy spleen contain:
For none will read thy satires.

PERSIUS. This to me?

But where's that Roman-Somewhat I would say,
But fear; let fear, for once, to truth give way.
Truth lends the Stoic courage: when I look
On human acts, and read in Nature's book,
From the first pastimes of our infant-age,
To elder cares, and man's severer page;
When stern as tutors, and as uncles hard,
We lash the pupil, and defraud the ward:
Then, then I say,or would say, if I durst—
But thus provok'd, I must speak out, or burst.
FRIEND. Once more forbear.

PERSIUS. I cannot rule my spleen:
My scorn rebels, and tickles me within.

First, to begin at home: our authors write
In lonely rooms, secur'd from public sight;
Whether in prose, or verse, 'tis all the same:
The prose is fustian, and the numbers lame.
All noise, and empty pomp, a storm of words,
Labouring with sound, that little sense affords.
They comb, and then they order every hair :
A gown, or white, or scour'd to whiteness, wear:
A birth-day jewel bobbing at their ear.
Next, gargle well their throats, and thus prepar'd,
They mount, a God's name, to be seen and heard.
From their high scaffold, with a trumpet cheek,
And ogling all their audience ere they speak.
The nauseous nobles, ev'n the chief of Rome,
With gaping mouths to these rehearsals come,
And pant with pleasure, when some lusty line
The marrow pierces, and invades the chine.
At open fulsome bawdry they rejoice,
And slimy jest applaud with broken voice.
Base prostitute, thus dost thou gain thy bread?
Thus dost thou feed their ears, and thus art fed?
At his own filthy stuff he grins and brays:
And gives the sign where he expects their praise.
Why have I learn'd say'st thou, if, thus
coufin'd,

I choke the noble vigour of my mind?
Know, my wild fig-tree, which in rocks is bred,
Will split the quarry, and shoot out the head.
Fine fruits of learning! old ambitious fool,
Dar'st thou apply that adage of the school:
As if 'tis nothing worth that lies conceal'd,
And "science is not science till reveal'd?"
Oh, but 'tis brave to be admir'd, to see
The crowd, with pointing fingers, cry, That's he:
That's he whose wondrous poem is become
A lecture for the noble youth of Rome!
Who, by their fathers, is at feasts renown'd;
And often quoted when the bowls go round.
Full gorg'd and flush'd, they wantonly rehearse;
And add to wine the luxury of verse.
One, clad in purple, not to lose his time,

FRIEND. None; or what's next to none, but two Eats, and recites some lamentable rhyme:

or three.

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Some senseless Phillis, in a broken note,
Snuffling at nose, and croaking in his throat:
Then graciously the mellow audience nod:
Is not th' immortal author tnade a god?
Are not his manes blest, such praise to have?
Lies not the turf more lightly on his grave?
And roses (while his loud applause they sing)
Stand ready from his sepulchre to spring?

All these, you cry, but light objections are;
Mere malice, and you drive the jest too far.
For does there breathe a man, who can reject
A general fame, and his own lines neglect?
In cedar tablets worthy to appear,
That need not fish, or frankincense, to fear?
Thou, whom I made the adverse part, to bear,

Be answer'd thus: If I by chance succeed
In what I write, (and that's a chance indeed)
Know, I am not so stupid, or so hard,
Not to feel praise, or fame's deserv'd reward ;
But this I cannot grant, that thy applause
Is my work's ultimate, or only cause.
Prudence can ne'er propose so mean a prize;
For mark what vanity within it lies.
Like Labeo's Iliads, in whose verse is found
Nothing but trifling care, and empty sound:
Such little elegies as nobles write,
Who would be poets, in Apollo's spite.
Them and their woeful works the Muse defies:
Products of citron-beds, and golden canopies.
To give thee all thy due, thou hast the heart
To make a supper, with a fine dessert:
And to thy thread-bare friend, a cast old suit
Thus brib'd, thou thus bespeak'st him, "Tell
me friend,

[impart.

(For I love truth, nor can plain speech offend,) What says the world of me and of my Muse?"

The poor dare nothing tell but flattering news: But shall I speak? Thy verse is wretched rhyme;

And all thy labours are but loss of time.

Thy strutting belly swells, thy paunch is high;
Thou writ'st not, but thou pissest poetry.

All authors to their own defects are blind;
Hadst thou but, Janus like, a face behind,
To see the people, what splay-mouths they make;
To mark their fingers, pointed at thy back :
Their tongues loll'd out, a foot beyond the pitch,
When most a-thirst of an Apulian bitch :
But noble scribblers are with flattery fed;

When thou shalt see the blear-ey'd fathers teach
Their sons, this harsh and mouldy sort of speech;
Or others, new affected ways to try,

Of wanton smoothness, female poetry;
One would inquire from whence this motley style
Did first our Roman purity defile:

For our old dotards cannot keep their seat;
But leap and catch at all that's obsolete.
Others, by foolish ostentation led,
When call'd before the bar, to save their head,
Bring trifling tropes, instead of solid sense:
And mind their figures more than their defence.
Are pleas'd to hear their thick-skull'd judges cry,
Well mov'd, oh finely said, and decently:
"Theft" (says th' accuser) "to thy charge I lay,
O Pedius;" what does gentle Pedius say?
Studious to please the genius of the times, [crimes:
With periods, points, and tropes, be slurs his

"He robb'd not, but he borrow'd from the poor;
And took but with intention to restore."
He lards with flourishes his long harangue;
'Tis fine, say'st thou; what, to be prais'd, and
Effeminate Roman, shall such stuff prevail [bang?
To tickle thee, and make thee wag thy tail?
Say, should a shipwreck'd sailor sing his woe,
Wouldst thou be mov'd to pity, or bestow
An alms? What's more preposterous than to see
A merry beggar? Mirth in misery?

PERSIUS. He seems a trap, for charity, to lay:
And cons, by night, his lesson for the day.

FRIEND. But to raw numbers, and unfinish'd

verse,

Sweet sound is added now, to make it terse :
""Tis tagg'd with rhyme, like Berecynthian Atys,

The dolphin brave, that cuts the liquid wave,
Or he who in his line can chine the long-ribb'd
PERSIUS. All this is doggrel stuff. [Apennine."
FRIEND. What if I bring

For none dare find their faults, who eat their bread. The mid-part chimes with art, which never flat is.
To pass the poets of patrician blood,
What is 't the common reader takes for good >
The verse in fashion is, when numbers flow,
Soft without sense, and without spirit slow:
So smooth and equal, that no sight can find
The rivet, where the polish'd piece was join'd.
So even all, with such a steady view,
As if he shut one eye to level true.
Whether the vulgar vice his satire stings,
The people's riots, or the rage of kings,
The gentle poet is alike in all;

His reader hopes to rise, and fears no fall,

FRIEND. Hourly we see, some raw pin-feather'd

thing

Attempt to mount, and fights and heroes sing;
Who, for false quantities, was whipt at school
But t' other day, and breaking grammar-rule,
Whose trivial art was never try'd above
The brave description of a native grove :
Who knows not how to praise the country store,
The feasts, the baskets, nor the fatted boar :
Nor paint the flowery fields that paint themselves
before.

Where Romulus was bred, and Quintius born,
Whose shining ploughshare was in furrows worn,
Met by his trembling wife, returning home,
And rustically joy'd, as chief of Rome :
She wip'd the sweat from the dictator's brow;
And o'er his back his robe did rudely throw;
The lictors bore in state their lord's triumphant
plough.

Some love to hear the fustian poet roar ;
And some on antiquated authors pore:
Rummage for sense; and think those only good
Who labour most, and least are understood.

A nobler verse? "Arms and the man I sing."
PERSIUS. Why name you Virgil with such fops
as these?

He's truly great, and must for ever please:
Nor fierce, but awful, in his manly page;
Bold in his strength, but sober in his rage.

FRIEND. What poems think you soft? and to be
With languishing regards, and bended head? [read
PERSIUS. "Their crooked horns the Mimallonian

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sound."

Could such rude lines a Roman mouth become,
Were any manly greatness left in Rome?
Mænas and Atys in the mouth were bred;
And never hatch'd within the labouring head:
No blood from bitten nails those poems drew:
But churn'd, like spittle, from the lips they flew.

FRIEND. 'Tis fustian all; 'tis execrably bad:
But if they will be fools, must you be mad?
Your satires, let me tell you, are too fierce;
The great will never bear so blunt a verse.
Their doors are barr'd against a bitter flout:
Snarl, if you please, but you shall snarl without.
Expect such pay as railing rhymes deserve,
y' are in a very hopeful way to starve.

PERSIUS. Rather than so, uncensur'd let them ve; All, ali is adınably well, for me.

My harmless rhyme shall 'scape the dire disgrace
Of common-shores, and every pissing place.
Two painted serpents shall, on high, appear;
'Tis holy ground; you must not urine here.
This shall be writ to fright the fry away,
Who draw their little baubles, when they play.
Yet old Lucilius never fear'd the times,
But lash'd the city, and dissected crimes.
Mutius and Lupus both by name he brought;
He mouth'd them, and betwixt his grinders caught.
Unlike in method, with conceal'd design,
Did crafty Horace his low numbers join:
And, with a sly insinuating grace,
Laugh'd at his friend, and look'd him in the face.
Would raise a blush, where secret vice he found;
And tickle, while he gently prob'd the wound.
With seeming innocence the crowd beguil'd;
But made the desperate passes when he smil'd.
Could he do this, and is my Muse control'd
By servile awe? Born free, and not be bold?
At least, I'll dig a hole within the ground;
And to the trusty earth commit the sound:
The reeds shall tell you what the poet fears,
King Midas has a snout, and asses' ears.'
This mean conceit, this darling mystery,
Which thou think'st nothing, friend, thou shalt
Nor will I change for all the flashy wit, [not buy.
That flattering Labeo, in his Iliads, writ.
Thou, if there be a thou in this base town
Who dares, with angry Eupolis, to frown;
He, who, with bold Cratinus, is inspir'd
With zeal, and equal indignation fir'd:
Who, at enormous villainy, turns pale,
And steers against it with a full blown sail,
Like Aristophanes, let him but smile

66

"

[style:

On this my honest work, though writ in homely
And if two lines or three in all the vein
Appear less drossy, read those lines again.
May they perform their author's just intent,
Glow in thy ears, and in thy breast ferment.
But from the reading of my book and me,
Be far, ye focs of virtuous poverty:
Who fortune's fault upon the poor can throw;
Point at the tatter'd coat, and ragged shoe :
Lay Nature's failings to their charge, and jeer
>The dim weak eye-sight, when the mind is clear,
When thou thyself, thus insolent in state,
Art but, perhaps, some country magistrate:
Whose power extends no farther than to speak
Big on the bench and scanty weights to break.
Him, also, for my censor I disdain,
Who thinks all science, as all virtue, vain;
Who counts geometry, and numbers, toys;
And, with his foot, the sacred dust destroys:
Whose pleasure is to see a strumpet tear
A Cynic's beard, and lug him by the hair.
Such, all the morning, to the pleadings run;
But when the business of the day is done,
On dice, and drink, aud drabs, they spend their
afternoon.

THE SECOND SATIRE OF

PERSIUS.

THE ARGUMENT.

THIS satire contains a most grave and philosophi~ cal argument, concerning prayers and wishes.

Undoubtedly it gave occasion to Juvenal's tenth satire; and both of them had ther original from one of Plato's dialogues, called the Second Alcibiades. Our author has induced it with great mystery of art, by taking his rise from the birth-day of his friend; on which occasions, prayers were made, and sacrifices offered by the native. Persius, commending the purity of his friend's vows, descends to the impious and immoral r quests of others. The satire is divided into three parts: the first is the exordium to Macrinus, which the poet confines within the compass of four verses. The second relates to the matter of the prayers and vows, and enumeration of those things, wherein men commonly sinned against right reason, and offended in their requests. The third part consists in showing the repugnances of those prayers and wishes, to those of other men, and inconsistencies with themselves. He shows the original of these vows, and sharply inveighs against them and lastly, not only corrects the false opinion of mankind concerning them, but gives the true doctrine of all addresses made to Heaven, and how they may be made acceptable to the powers above, in excellent precepts, and more worthy of a Christian than a Heathen.

::

THE SECOND SATIRE.

DEDICATED TO his friend PLOTIUS MACRINUS, ON HIS

BIRTH-DAY.

LET this auspicious morning be exprest
With a white stone, distinguish'd from the rest:
White as thy fame, and as thy honour clear;
And let new joys attend on thy new added ycar.
Indulge thy genius, and o'erflow thy soul,
Till thy wit sparkle, like the cheerful bowl.
Pray; for thy prayers the test of Heaven will bear;
Nor need'st thou take the gods aside, to hear:
While others, ev'n the mighty men of Rome,
Big swell'd with mischief, to the temples come;
And in low murmurs, and with costly smoke,
Heaven's help, to prosper their black vows, invoke.
So boldly to the gods mankind reveal

What from each other they, for shame, conceal.
"Give me good faine, ye powers, and make me
just:"

Thus much the rogue to public ears will trust :
In private then :-" When wilt thou, mighty Jove,
My wealthy uncle from this world remove?"
Or-“O thou thunderer's son, great Hercules,
That once thy bounteous deity would please
To guide my rake upon the chinking sound
Of some vast treasure, hidden under ground!”

"O were my pupil fairly knock`d o' th' head;
I should possess th' estate, if he were dead!
He's so far gone with rickets, and with th' evil,
That one small dose will send him to the devil."

"This is my neighbour Nerius 's third spouse,
Of whom in happy time he rids his house.
But my eternal wife !-Grant, Heaven, I may
Survive to see the fellow of this day!"
Thus, that thou may'st the better bring about
Thy wishes, thou art wickedly devout :
In Tyber ducking thrice, by break of day,
To wash th' obscenities of night away.
But, pr'ythee, tell me, ('tis a small request)
With what ill thoughts of Jove art thou possest?

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