Rufus, believed by me a friend, in vain and worthlessly, (in vain? yes, and in fact at an ill and grievous price) you have thus stolen upon me, and burning my innards, ah! snatched from wretched me all our good?
you have snatched it, alas, you cruel venom of our life! alas, you plague of our friendship.Lines 7 ff are presented as part of poem 77 in the print edition. They are appended to poem 78 in keeping with convention.
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