Note 189 — Chapter XXI · THE ANTHOLOGY.
Reading edition
Stranger, beware! This grave hurls words like hail: Here dwells the dread Hipponax, dealing bale. E'en 'mid his ashes, fretful, poisonous, He shoots iambics at slain Bupalus. Wake not the sleeping wasp: for though he's dead, Still straight and sure his crooked lines are sped.