Pretty is the widowed mother,
And the daughter, too, is pretty.
When I see that maiden shrinking,
By the gods I swear I’ll get ‘er!
But anon I fall to thinking
That the mother ‘ll suit me better!
So, like any idiot ass
Hungry for the fragrant fodder,
Placed between two bales of grass,
Lo, I doubt, delay, and dodder!
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Than you, O valued friend of mine,
Come, quaff my home-made Sabine wine,–You’ll find it poor but honest.I put it up that famous dayYou patronized the ballet,And the public cheered you such a wayAs shook your native valley.Caecuban and the Calean brandMay elsewhere claim attention;But _I_ have none of these on hand,–For reasons I’ll not mention.ENVOYSo, come! though favors I bestowCannot be…