METRE VIII.

Nec te gulosae Scylla voraginis mergat.

'To the end, she answered, 'that Scylla of the greedy whirlpool do not whelm thee in the deep night of self-indulgence, apply the curbs of moderation to thy palate, pay thy belly its due most temperately, let the path of thy throat taste the rain of Lyaecus, the draughts of Bacchus, soberly, drink but little, that the mouth may be thought to give a sort of kiss to the wine-god's cup. Let water break the pride of Lyaeus, streams temper the madness of Bacchus; let Thetis offer herself as a wife to Lyaeus, and the wife curb the tyranny of the husband. Let a common,

simple, spare diet wear out the mutinies of the haughty flesh. That the despot who always exults in the flesh may drive thee the less, let quiet Cupid take his rest. Let the bridles of love be checked in thee and the sting of the flesh faint and be numb, and let the flesh thus become the handmaid of the spirit. Restrain thine eyes, and put bolts upon the door of thy vision, lest it hunt too unvirtuously beyond the reach of the light, and, like a scout, lay its booty before the mind. If the passion of greed intoxicates any, let them force it to depart from them, let ostentation note the wealth of the mind, the triumph of the mind let the neck of desire be bent and bowed, nor even let the money linger in the shut moneybags and sleep inactive, free to no one, but let it rather keep watch as the guardian of honor, to be put by the rich man to use. If the time be at hand, if the place require, let the buried mass of wealth rise up, the money-bags cast up coins from their very depths. Let bounty serve honor in any way it can. If thou wishest to tread on the neck of pride, on swollen arrogance, on ostentation of the spirit, consider the burden of thy fleeting race, the toil of life, the close of death.'