 | Poems and Songs |  |
273
EPODE XI.
To Pettius his Chamber-fellow.
Ah Pettius! I have done with Poetry,I've parted with my liberty,
For Cupid's slavery.
Cupid that peevish God has singled out
Me, from among the Rhyming rout,
For Boys and Girls to flout:
December now has thrice stript every Tree,
Since bright Inachia's Tyranny
Has laid its chains on me.
Now fie upon me! all about the Town
My Miss I treated up and down,
I for a Squire was known.
Lord what a whelp was I! to pule and whine,
To sigh, to sob, and to repine!
For thy sake (Mistress mine!)
Thou didst my Verse, and thou my Muse despise,
My want debas'd me in thine eyes.
Thou wealth, not wit, didst prize.
Fuddled with Wine, and Love my secrets flew,
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What did my self undo.
Well!—plague me not too much, imperious Dame,
Lest I blaspheme thy charming name,
And quench my former flame.
I can give others place, and see thee die
Damn'd with their prodigality,
If I set on't, so stout am I.
Thou know'st (my Friend) thus have I often said,
When, by her sorceries misled,
Thou bad'st me home to bed:
Ev'n then my practice gave my tongue the lie,
I could not her curst house pass by:
I fear'd, but could not fly.
Since that, for young Lyciscus I'm grown mad;
Inachia such a face ne're had,
It is a lovely Lad.
From his embraces I shall ne'r get free,
Nor friends advice, nor infamy
Can disintangle me:
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That, might perhaps debauch my Eye,
And shake my constancy.
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