Chapter_480

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“ ’Tis money, ’tis money that maketh the man!” he said,

When his friends forsook him so soon as his wealth had fled.

But enough⁠—thou art wise. O, famous afar

Is the Isthmian victory won by the car

Thy swift steeds drew, that I sing.

For Poseidon gave to thy sire renown,

And the Dorian garland, the parsley crown

O’er Xenokrates’ hair did he fling.