Practice Typing

Lo. the sad father, frantic with his pain, Around him furious drives his menial train. In vain each slave with duteous care attends, Each office hurts him, and each face offends. What make ye here, officious crowds. he cries. Hence. nor obtrude your anguish on my eyes. Have ye no griefs at home, to fix ye there. Am I the only object of despair. Am I become my peoples common show, Set up by Jove your spectacle of woe.