Desire, nor relish Lucrine oysters more.
Olives, fresh gather’d from the tree;
Mallows, the frame from heaviness to free[350];
A kid snatch’d from the wolf, a lamb
To Terminus with due devotion slain;
Such is the meal, his labor o’er;
No bird from distant climes I’d relish more.
Meanwhile how pleasant to behold
His sheep well fed, and hasting to their fold;
To see his wearied oxen bow