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Horace - untitledHorace - untitled
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miserarum neque amore dare ludum neque dulci mala vino lavere aut exanimari metuentes patruae verbera linguae tibi qualum cytherae puer ales, tibi telas operosaeque Minervae studium aufert, Neobule liparaei nitor hebri simul unctos tiberinis umeros lavit in undis eques ipso melior bellerophonte, neque pugno neque segni pede victus catus idem per apertum fugientes agitato grege cervos iaculari et celer arto latitantem fruticeto excipere aprum ~~ O those poor sad little ladies, with no chance for love or playing, Washing off toil with wine, but mad lashings of an uncles` bad tongue Forever fearing. To you, Neobule, for a moment now forgetting The loom`s labor and the boredom of the shuttle, appearing Like a winged Cupid soaring, that shining image Hebrus of Lipari, As his smooth slick limbs he plunges in the Tiber`s waters, Now a better horseman than Bellerophon, now boxing, running And never beaten, Sharp-eyed, about to spear the deer herd whirling there in the meadow, Or poised, lance lowered, by the dense thicket, for the huge boar Hiding..... waiting.
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