ODE XXV. TO LYDIA.
He insults her, that now being old, she is deservedly contemned by her gallants.
More sparing the young rakes alarm
The window-shutters of their toast,
You now may sleep secure of harm;
The door affects the post,
Which mov'd so oft its pliant hinge—
—You hear that serenade no more,
“Sleep'st thou, while dying lovers winge,
“O Lydia, at thy door!”
Jilt, thou the scoffing sparks shalt soon
Lament, neglected in a lane,
When, at the changing of the moon,
The north-west blows amain;
While love and vehement desire,
Such as the mares for stallions seize,
Shall set your blister'd breast asire,
Join'd to complaints like these,
That gladsome youths on ivy green
And constant myrtle rather glote;
To Hebrus winter's comrade keen,
The wither'd leaves devote.
