You can frogmarch young romans tied to a chick mad for all things caudal
(as the young & stupid are), too lingual for their own good; or
fly on your lembos prow forward to lesbos, a young bitter Antoninus on
your scent, where you'd have lain with spumy chin in the sand
(chin and spit on open sand!); and if you'd stayed home, enough millet and
panic galore would certainly dry up all imagination and pity in you
Don't be seduced into theft of cattle and gold and a cute naked roman celt--
stay at a darling lake retreat, laying in torcs, anklets and the rest,
Try rearing sires of yours to read lives instead of turning lewd, sly, laconic
Be a best friend rather than guest-friend, and hide one breast
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