The Suppliant

O wine-drinkers, receive one who escaped the sea and pirates to perish on land!
Scarcely had I put foot on land from the ship when Love, the hunter, dragged me here by force, where I saw a young man walking. My feet carry me swiftly by themselves, against my will. I am drunk but my soul is filled with fire not wine.
Strangers, help a friend a little, help me, strangers, and for the sake of the Eros of hospitality, receive me as I perish, the suppliant of friendship!
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