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vows, that my Cyprian and Syrian merchandize may not make an addition to the wealth of the infatiable fea. Then the fanning gale and the twin Pollux fhall carry me fafe in the protection of a skiff with two oars, through the tumultuous Egean fea.


He promifes himself an immortality of fame from his poetical writings.

Have executed a monument more lafting than brafs, and more fublime than the regal elevation of pyramids, which the wafting rain, the unavailing north-wind, or an innumerable fucceffion of years, and the flight of feafons, fhall not be able to demolish. I fhall not wholly die, but a great part of me fhall escape + Libitina. I fhalt continually be renew'd in the praifes of pofterity, as long as the priest shall afcend the capitol with the filent veftal virgin. Where the rapid Aufidus fhall murmur, and where Damus, poorly fupplied with water, ruled over a ruftic people, I, exalted from a low degree, fhall be acknowledged as having originally adapted the Æolic verfe to Italian meafures.-Melpomene affume that pride which your merits have acquired, and willingly crown my hair with the Delphic laurel.


Goddess of Death.






Se jam ca atate effe, ut a rebus Veneris alien animo effe debeat.

NTERMISSA, Venus, diu,

Rurfus bella moves? Parce precor, precor.

Non fum qualis

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Sub regno Cynara. Define, dulcium

Mater fæva Cupidinum,

Circa luftra decem flectere mollibus

Jam durum imperiis: abi


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He was now arrived at fuch an age that he ought no no longer to think of love affairs.


FTER a long ceffation, O Venus, again are you stirring up tumults? Spare me, I

befeech you, I befeech you. I am not the

man I was under the dominion of good-natur'd Cynara. Forbear, thou cruel mother of foft defires, to bend one bordering upon fifty, now on harden'd for your foft commands; go whither the VOL. I. foothing


Quo blande juvenum te revocant preces. Tempeftivius in domo

Pauli, purpureis ales oloribus,
Commeffabere Maximi;

Si torrere jecur quæris idoneum.
Namque et nobilis, et decens,
Et pro folicitis non tacitus reis,
Et centum puer artium,

Late figna feret militiæ tuæ:
Et, quandoque potentior

Largis muneribus riferit æmuli, Albanos prope te lacus

Ponet marmoream fub trabe citrea. Illic plurima naribus

Duces thura; *lyræque et Berecynthia

Delectabere tibiæ

Miftis carminibus, non fine fiftula.

Illic bis pueri die

Numen, cum teneris virginibus, tuum Laudantes, pede candido

Me nec femina, nec puer





In morem Salium ter quatient humum.

Jam, nec fpes animi credula mutui,


Nec certare juvat mero,

Nec vincire novis tempora floribus.

Sed cur, heu! Ligurine, cur

Manat rara meas lacryma per genas?

Cur facunda parum decoro


Inter verba cadit lingua filentio?

Nocturnis te ego fomniis


Jam captum teneo; jam volucrem fequor

e per gramina Martii

Campi, te per aquas, dure, volubiles.

Lyraque et Berecynthia tibia,



foothing prayers of youth invoke thee. More feafonably may you revel in the houfe of Paulus Maximus, flying thither with your fplendid fwans; if you feek to inflame a fuitable breaft. For he is both noble and graceful, and by no means filent in the cause of diftreffed defendants, and a youth of an hundred accomplishments,, he fhall bear the enfigns of your warfare far and wide: and whenever more prevailing than the ample prefents of a rival he fhall laugh at his expence, he fhall erect thee in marble under a citron dome near the Alban lake. There you fhall fmell abundant frankincenfe, and fhall be charmed with the mixed mufic of the lyre and Berecynthian pipe, not without the flagelet. There the youths, together with the tender maidens, twice a day celebrating your divinity, fhall, Salian-like, with frow white foot, thrice fhake the ground. As for me, neither woman, nor youth, nor the fond hope of a mutual inclination, nor to contend in wine, nor to bind my temples with fresh flowers, delight me any longer. But why, ah! why, O Ligurinus, does the tear every now and then trickle down my cheeks? why does my fluent tongue faulter between my words, with an ill-becoming filence? Thee, in my dreams by night I clafp, caught in my arms; thee flying cross the turf of the Campus Martius, thee I purfue, O cruel one, thro' the rolling waters.



Priests of Bacchus.

U 2

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