Upborne on the shining wings of the sweet-voiced Muses nine,
With garlands from Pytho, with choicest wreaths from Alpheus’ flood
And Olympia’s contests won, may he his hands entwine
For the honour of Thebes seven-gated. But if one secretly brood
Over hoarded wealth, and at other men mouth, he considereth not
That to death he is rendering up his soul—and his name shall rot.