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Very distasteful is excessive fame To the sour palate of the envious mind, Who hears with grief his neighbours good by name, And hates the fortune that he ne?er shall find.
Seek not, my soul, the life of the immortals but enjoy to the full the resources that are within thy reach.
I hate the miser, whose unsocial breast Locks from the world his useless stores. Wealth by the bounteous only is enjoyed, Whose treasures, in diffusive good employed, The rich return of fame and friends procure, And ?gainst a sad reverse a safe retreat secure.