He draws a lovely lime This time, O Pyrrha! I’ve dipped. The wet ain’t fine. Hung on the votive line My duds. The gods can see I’m free. Eh, Pyrrha! My duds. The gods can see I’m free. Eh, Pyrrha! [Pg 60] [Pg 60] IV IV TO ARISTIUS FUSCUS “My sweetly-smiling, sweetly-speaking Lalage.” “My sweetly-smiling, sweetly-speaking Lalage.” Fuscus, take a tip from me: This here job’s no bed of roses, Not the cinch it seems to be, Not the pipe that one supposes. What care I, tho’, if I may Lallygag with Lalage. This here job’s no bed of roses, Not the pipe that one supposes. What care I, tho’, if I may Lallygag with Lalage. Every day there’s ink to spill, Tho’ I may not feel like working. Every day a hole to fill; One must plug it—there’s no shirking. Oh, that I might all the day Lallygag with Lalage!
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