Another.
Painter, this likeness is too strong,
And we shall mourn the dead too long.
Another.
At threescore winters' end I died
A cheerless being sole and sad;
The nuptial knot I never tied,
And wish my father never had.
By Callimachus.
At morn we placed on his funeral bier
Young Melanippus; and, at eventide,
Unable to sustain a loss so dear,
By her own hand his blooming sister died.
Thus Aristippus mourn'd his noble race,
Annihilated by a double blow,
Nor son could hope nor daughter more to embrace,
And all Cyrene sadden'd at his woe.