ODE V. ON LALAGE.
The most beautiful Lalage is a maiden unripe for a husband,
wherefore the inclination to possess her ought to be restrained.
As yet her tender neck's unbroke,
Nor to confine her in the yoke
Will all your skill avail;
As yet she cannot suit her mate,
Nor stand to bear the mighty weight
Of an impetuous male.
Your little heifer's fancy feeds
On verdant lawns and flow'ry meads,
Whose haunts she has preferr'd;
And by the streams, which willows shade,
She loves to have her gambols play'd
With younglings of the herd.
Forbear preposterous desire,
Nor at the eager grape aspire,
Anon shall autum speed;
And mark each bunch with blooming blue,
And vary into purple hue
The clusters ripe to bleed.
She soon shall follow thee of course,
For time goes on without remorse,
And to her days shall add
The rip'ning years, that make thee old,
And Lalage, maturely bold
Shall seek a sturdy lad—
Beloved!—coy Pholoe not so well
Nor Chloris celebrated belle,
With chest erect and white,
As Luna shining o'er the sea,
And smiling with celestial glee,
Or Cnidian Gyges bright;
Whom if you place amongst the fair
He'll make sagacious strangers stare,
As puzzl'd in the case;
Nor can they tell his sex with truth,
By reason of his looks and youth,
And smooth ambiguous face.
