But that bide not unknown to thee my sorrows (O Manius!)
And lest office of host I should be holden to hate,
Learn how in Fortune's deeps I chance myself to be drownèd,
Nor fro' the poor rich boons furthermore prithee require.
15
What while first to myself the pure-white garment was given,
Whenas my flowery years flowed in fruition of spring,
Much I disported enow, nor 'bode I a stranger to Goddess
Who with our cares is lief sweetness of bitter to mix:
Yet did a brother's death pursuits like these to my sorrow