
        ODES I. ODE XXXVIII. TO HIS SERVANT
        Boy, I detest the pomp of the Persians; chaplets, which are woven with the rind of the linden, displease me; give up the search for the place where the latter rose abides. It is my particular desire that you make no laborious addition to the plain myrtle ;for myrtle is neither unbecoming you a servant, nor me, while I quaff under this mantling vine.
      
