University of Virginia Library

Ode the first. The fourth Booke. To Venus.

Venus againe thou mov'st a warre
Long intermitted, pray thee, pray thee spare:
I am not such, as in the Reigne
Of the good Cynara I was: Refraine,
Sower Mother of sweet Loves, forbeare
To bend a man now at his fiftieth yeare
Too stubborne for Commands, so slack:
Goe where Youths soft intreaties call thee back.
More timely hie thee to the house,
With thy bright Swans of Paulus Maximus:
There jest, and feast, make him thine host,
If a fit livor thou dost seeke to toast;
For he's both noble, lovely, young,
And for the troubled Clyent fyl's his tongue,
Child of a hundred Arts, and farre
Will he display the Ensignes of thy warre.
And when he smiling finds his Grace
With thee 'bove all his Rivals gifts take place,
He will thee a Marble Statue make
Beneath a Sweet-wood Roofe, neere Alba Lake:
There shall thy dainty Nostrill take
In many a Gumme, and for thy soft eares sake
Shall Verse be set to Harpe and Lute,
And Phrygian Hau'boy, not without the Flute.
There twice a day in sacred Laies,
The Youths and tender Maids shall sing thy praise:
And in the Salian manner meet
Thrice 'bout thy Altar with their Ivory feet.
Me now, nor Wench, nor wanton Boy,
Delights, nor credulous hope of mutuall Joy,
Nor care I now healths to propound;
Or with fresh flowers to girt my Temple round.
But, why, oh why, my Ligurine,
Flow my thin teares, downe these pale cheeks of mine?
Or why, my well-grac'd words among,
With an uncomely silence failes my tongue?
Hard-hearted, I dreame every Night
I hold thee fast! but fled hence, with the Light,
Whether in Mars his field thou bee,
Or Tybers winding streames, I follow thee.