Want her who will, a stater, a three-obol piece,
Or a mere draught of wine brings her to hand!
Nay, place a silver stiver in your palm,
And, shocking tameness! she will stoop forthwith
To pick it out. —Mitchell.
The same.
Laïs herself's a lazy drunkard now,
And looks to nothing but her daily wine
And daily meat. There has befallen her
What happens to the eagle; who, when young,