Nor do the Median archers bear
So many shafts in quivers;
So many wings cleave not the air,
many fins the rivers;

So

So many waves strew not the sea, Nor sands the desert plains

As I heave, daily, sighs for thee, And suffer maddening pains.

AN OVERSIGHT.

Dum cavet Astrologus, &c.

Marullus, Epig. lib. iv.

AN Astrologer lately consulting the stars, Predicted his friend's speedy death without ques

tion,

But, o'erlooking the mushrooms he grill'd on the

bars,

Died himself of a most unforeseen indigestion.

TO NEERA.

Rogas quæ mea vita sit, Neæra?

Marullus, Epig. lib. i.

You ask, Neæra, how I live?
Just the kind of life you give;

Hapless, restless, sad, and troubled;
Wretchedness itself redoubled:

Such the life your lover spends.

Would you know bosom friends?

my

These are grief, complaints, and weeping,

Bitter thoughts and care unsleeping,

Hopeless anguish, lasting sorrow, Yesterday, to-day, to-morrow! Such the friends Neæra gives—

Such the life her lover lives!

DS

LIP-SERVICE.

Dum ver Hymettium diu, &c.

Marullus, lib. iii. p. 32.

WHILST the wandering bee in vain

Seeks the spring-flowers through the plain,

Lighting on Selina's lips,

There the honey-dew she sips;

Pleased she cries, with joyful hum,

66

Hither, bonny messmates, come;

"Come and taste, and homeward bring "All the sweetness of the spring!"