Some indiscreet Abderite boys, Within a limpit's hollow, Offered in laurel-juice blue flies As victims to Apollo. The god appeased will bless, they thought, Our tasks of prose and rhyme; So they the flitting insects caught, But lost the flitting time. When Pedagogue their progress tries, Nor finds the lesson done, In vain they plead the sacrifice. He whips them every one.
G. S. Cautley.
