Work-Book

 1   T-I|     from my native land’s too slow.~I pray for the journey
 2   T-I|     three times, even my feet slow to match my intent.~Often,
 3 T-III|    feels,~I beg you, drive my slow fate onwards~forbid the
 4 T-III| heated the brazen bull in the slow fires,~and gave that bull
 5 T-III|      once, and roast him over slow coals:~he’ll bellow, and
 6  T-IV|      sand and mud,~dragging a slow barge against the current,
 7  T-IV|      my Muse, Thalia, was not slow to become known.~When I
 8   T-V|       hair trimmed, hands not slow~to deal wounds with the
 9  ExII| horses,~but to a prince who’s slow to punish, swift to reward,~
10 ExIII|  searched for reasons for her slow delay,~she said: “Youths,
11 ExIII|      sunlight,~so my mind was slow to delight.~Novelty’s the
12  ExIV|   will. ~Your grace was never slow in my affairs,~your wealth
13  ExIV|     you.~Just as Apollo’s not slow to use the lyre or bow,~
14  IBIS|      that day, that comes too slow for me,~take away this life,