Hor. Ode 8. l. 1.
Per omnes
Te Deos oro, Sybarin cur properes amando
Perdere? &c.
I
Tell me, O Lydia, for by Heavens I swear,
You shan't deny so just a Prayer.
Tell me, why thus young Damon you destroy,
And nip the blooming Virtues of the lovely Boy.
II
Why does he never throw the manly Bar;
And practice the first Feats of War;
Or gaily shining in his Martial Pride,
With a strong artful Hand the foaming Courser guide.
III
Why does he never grasp the pond'rous Shield,
And meet his Equals in the Field:
Or when the Streams swell with the flowing Tide,
With his soft pliant Arms the Silver Thames divide.
IV
Why does he lurk, for I bewail his Doom,
Like an Alsatian Bully still at Home,
That fears to walk abroad all day,
Lest eager hungry Cits shou'd hurry him away.