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Ex otio Negotium

Or, Martiall his epigrams Translated. With Sundry Poems and Fancies, By R. Fletcher
  

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De suis Libellis, Epig. 4.

My lines are not alone delighted here,
Nor doe I spend them on the idle eare,
But by the sowre Centurion they are lost
Under his ensignes in the Getick frost.
And Brittain's said my verse to sing: But what
Can thence accrew? my purse ne're hears of that.
What never dying Papers could I write?
And glorious wars in a rich strain Indite!

97

Should Heaven Augustus once again revive,
And Rome to me a sweet Mæcenas give!