Which lost shall I stand mulcted of country, and he that was erewhileSon of the city to thee, Lampsacus! Gaul shall become.

Thou too dost mock me, Thief! and the infamousFinger dost point when menacèd by me!Ah hapless I, that should be only woodWhat makes me ever formidable seem!Yet will I charge my garden's lustful lordFor me deign robber-folk to irrumate.

A chough, a caries, an eld-worn grave,By lapse of crowding centuries rotten grown,Who as a wetnurse haply may have fedTithonus, Priam, Nestor, and perchance