BOOK III. ODE XX. _To Pyrrhus.

Dry Pyrrhus, little dost thou know, What 'tis to make a whelp forgo His lioness,--faith 'twill not do! It will be so.

Nearchus understands his game, If he resolves to quit his fame, What's that to you? To save his name You'll purchase shame.

If before peace you war prefer, Shoot at his butt--you'll find from her 10 A Rowland for your Oliver, That I dare swear.

He is a gay, and sanguine man, His periwig the wind does fan, And she will hug him, now and than, Do what you can.