So this marvel o' mine sees naught, and nothing can hear he,What he himself, an he be or not be, wholly unknowing.Now would I willingly pitch such wight head first fro' thy bridge,Better a-sudden t'arouse that numskull's stolid old senses,Or in the sluggish mud his soul supine to deposit Even as she-mule casts iron shoe where quagmire is stiffest.
TO PRIAPUS, THE GARDEN-GOD
This grove to thee devote I give, Priapus!Who home be Lampsacus and holt, Priapus!For thee in cities worship most the shoresOf Hellespont the richest oystery strand.To PRIAPUSThis place, O youths, I protect, nor less this turfbuilded cottage,