TO NEOBULE.
Horace
It is for unhappy maidens neither to give indulgence to love, nor to
wash away cares with delicious wine; or to be dispirited out of dread of
the lashes of an uncle's tongue. The winged boy of Venus, O Neobule, has
deprived you of your spindle and your webs, and the beauty of Hebrus
from Lipara of inclination for the labors of industrious Minerva, after
he has bathed his anointed shoulders in the waters of the Tiber; a
better horseman than Bellerophon himself, neither conquered at boxing,
nor by want of swiftness in the race: he is also skilled to strike with
his javelin the stags, flying through the open plains in frightened
herd, and active to surprise the wild boar lurking in the deep thicket.
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