University of Virginia Library


37

BOOK III. ODE XXVI.

To VENUS.
Once, though not lately, I confess,
I lov'd, and lov'd with some success;
But now, ay now, 'tis quite provoking,
Now I will hang up my fine cloaths,
Hang up my harp and take to prose,
And try to turn my pipe to smoaking.
Samples of hair, in fine condition,
Surrender'd by fair composition,
Taken by storm, or won by guile;
Writings, for writing sake, not reading,
Assignments, grants, and special pleading,
Shall blaze in one funereal pile.

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Mountains are hoary oft with snow,
When all the vales are green below,
Still, Venus, let me cleave to thee;
Let Chloe but a while be kind,
Then, if my Chloe change her mind,
Chloe will only copy me.