Liber engages in fray, confiding on sheaflets of Thyrsi;By th' Apollinean hand shafts (they assure us) are shot;Hercules' right is armed with the club that cannot be conquer'd;But a distended yard makes me an object of awe.

Wealth is my loss! Do thou vouchsafe lend aid to my prayer,Nor, by thy signal shown, me, O Priapus, betray:Whatso before thee I laid, of home-grown apples the firstlings,