The works of Mr. Thomas Brown Serious and Comical, In Prose and Verse; In four volumes. The Fourth Edition, Corrected, and much Enlarged from his Originals never before publish'd. With a key to all his Writings |
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The 13th Ode in Horace l. 4. Paraphrased. |
The works of Mr. Thomas Brown | ||
The 13th Ode in Horace l. 4. Paraphrased.
Audivere Lyce Dii mea Vota: Dii
Audivere Lyce; fis Anus & tamen
Vis formosa videri, &c.
Audivere Lyce; fis Anus & tamen
Vis formosa videri, &c.
I
Long have my Prayers slow Heaven assail'd;But Thanks to all the Powers above,
That still revenge the Cause of injur'd Love,
Lyce at last they have prevail'd.
My Vows are all with Usury repaid,
For who can Providence upbraid,
That sees thy former Crimes with hasten'd Age repaid.
II
Thou'rt old, and yet by awkard Ways dost striveTh'unwilling Passion to revive;
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And all to set some puny Heart on Fire.
Alas! in Chloe's Cheeks love basking lies;
Chloe great Beauty's fairest prize,
Chloe, that charms our Ears, and ravishes our Eyes.
III
The vigorous Boy flies o'er the barren Plains,Where sapless Oaks their wither'd Trunks extend;
For Love, like other Gods, disdains
To grace the Shrine that Age has once profan'd.
He too laughs at thee now,
Scorns thy grey Hairs, and wrinkled Brow,
How should his youthful Fires agree with hoary Ages snow?
IV
In vain, with wondrous Art, and mighty Care,You strive your ruin'd Beauty to repair;
No far-fetcht Silks one Minute can restore,
That Time has added to the endless Score.
And precious Stones, tho' ne'er so bright,
That shine with their own native Light,
Will but disgrace thee now, and but inhance thy Night.
V
Ah me! where's now that Mien! that Face!That Shape! that Air! that every Grace!
That Colour! whose inchanting Red
Me to Love's Tents a Captive led.
Strange turn of Fate! that she
Who from my self so oft has stol'n poor me,
Now by the just revenge of time, stol'n from herself should be.
VI
Time was when Lyce's powerful FaceTo Phyllis only gave the place;
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That charm the Sense, and the quick Fancy move.
But Fate to Phyllis a long Reign deny'd,
She fell in all her blooming Beauty's Pride,
She conquer'd whilst she liv'd, and triumph'd as she dy'd.
VII
Thou, like some old Commander in Disgrace,Surviving the past Conquests of thy Face,
Now the greater Business of thy Life is done,
Review'st with Grief the Trophies thou hast won.
Damn'd to be parch'd with Lust, tho' chill'd with Age,
And tho' past Action, damn'd to tread the Stage,
That all might laugh to see that glaring Light,
Which lately shone so fierce and bright,
End with a Stink at last, and vanish into Night.
The works of Mr. Thomas Brown | ||