Book ii

. Line 69._

But touch me, and no minister so sore; Whoe'er offends at some unlucky time Slides into verse, and hitches in a rhyme, Sacred to ridicule his whole life long, And the sad burden of some merry song.

_Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace. Satire i. Book ii . Line 76._

Bare the mean heart that lurks behind a star.

_Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace. Satire i. Book ii . Line 110._

There St. John mingles with my friendly bowl, The feast of reason and the flow of soul.

_Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace. Satire i. Book ii . Line 127._

For I, who hold sage Homer's rule the best, Welcome the coming, speed the going guest.[328-2]

_Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace. Satire ii. Book ii . Line 159._

Give me again my hollow tree, A crust of bread, and liberty.

_Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace. Satire vi.