Nec facere est isti. quantumque ego Marte feroci, Nec memoranda tamen vobis mea facta, Pelasgi, Effe reor: vidiftis enim. sua narret Ulyffes, Praemia magna peti fateor : fed demit honorem Iste tulit pretium jam nunc certaminis hujus ; But gin my wightness doubted war, I wat my gentle bleed, As being sin to TELAMON, Right lickerly does plead: Fa, under doughty HERCULES, Great Troy's walls down hurld, An' in a tight Theffalian bark To Colchos' harbour swirħd. An' Æacus my gutcher was, Fa now in hell fits jidge, Fare a fun-stane does SISYPHUS a Down to the yerd fair gnidge. Atque ego, fi virtus in me dubitabilis effet, Nobilitate potens effem, Telamone creatus: Great Jove himsel owns Æ ACUS To be his ain dear boy, An’syne, without a doubt, I am The neist chiel to his oye. ; II :: Aeacon agnoscit fummus, prolemque fatetur india Bat why a thief, like S1SYPHUS, That's nidder'd sae in hell, Sud here tak fittininment, Is mair na'I can tell. Sall then these arms be deny'd To me, fa in this bruilzie Was the first man that drew my durk, Came flaught-bred to the toulzie ? An' fall this fleeth come farrer ben, Fa was fae dev'lish surly, He scarce wou'd gae a fit frae hame, An'ous a' was hurly? Sisyphio, furtisque, et fraude fimillimus illi, Ultima qui cepit; detrectavitque furore |