Читать книгу Yale Classics - Roman Classical Literature - Луций Анней Сенека - Страница 76

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Draughts, dear Furius, if my villa faces,

'Tis not showery south, nor airy wester,

North's grim fury, nor east; 'tis only fifteen

Thousand sesterces, add two hundred over.

Draft unspeakable, icy, pestilential!