Vivent, dum meretrix blanda, Menandrus erit.”
Ovid, Amor. Lib. I.
“This dwelling of nine winters’ grief behold,
Where stretch’d on rock my sad sojourn I hold.
Around the boisterous north-wind ceaseless blows.
And, while it rages, drifts the gelid snows.”
—— “Fuerit Lucilius, inquam,
Comis et urbanus; fuerit limatior idem
Quam rudis, et Græcis intacti carminis auctor:—
Quamque poetarum seniorum turba.”