Starving company, troop of hungry Piso, Light of luggage, of outfit expeditious, You, Veranius, you, my own Fabullus, Say, what fortune? enough of empty masters, Frost and famine, a lingering probation? Stands your diary fair? is any profit Enter'd given? as I to serve a praetor Count each beggarly gift a timely profit. Trust me, Memmius, you did aptly finger My pa**ivity, fool'd me most supinely. Friends, confess it; in e'en as hard a fortune You stand mulcted, on you a like abashless Rake rides heavily. Court the great who wills it! Gods and goddesses evil heap upon ye,15 Rogues to Romulus and to Remus outcast.