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See their native cities take them, breach the wall to make a gate!
What supreme reward is theirs who bring such honors to their state?

In the forum stand they proudly, take their prizes from the pries:
Little wreaths of pine and parsley on their naked temples pressed!

We in later days are lower? When a manful stroke is made.
We must raise a purse to pay it—making manliness a trade.

Sacrifice itself grows venal—surely Midas will subscribe;
And the shallow souls are gratified when worth accepts the bribe.

But e'en here, amidst the markets, there are things they dare not prize;
Dollars hide their sordid faces when they meet anointed eyes.