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The Works of Horace In English Verse

By several hands. Collected and Published By Mr. Duncombe. With Notes Historical and Critical
  

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12

ODE III. To Mæcenas.

Should impious Sons in future Times
Their aged Parents slay, such Crimes
Let poisonous Garlic but requite,
More to be shunn'd than Aconite.
Ye Reapers, how can ye digest
This Venom, which torments my Breast?
Sure Viper's Blood deceiv'd my Taste,
Or vile Canidia cook'd the Feast!
Medea, Jason's Love to gain,
In Beauty far beyond his Train,
This, as a magic Ointment gave,
From the Fire-breathing Bulls to save.
With this she smear'd, on Mischief bent,
The Presents to her Rival sent:
Then in her Car away she flew;
Her Car, which winged Dragons drew.
Such Heat, as rages in my Veins,
Ne'er scorch'd the dry Apulian Plains,

13

Nor burnt Alcides' tortur'd Breast,
When round him clung th'envenom'd Vest.
My merry Friend, if e'er of this
Again you taste, no balmy Kiss
May Chloë grant, but from you fly,
Rejoicing by herself to lie!