University of Virginia Library

THE FOURTH ODE OF THE Second Book of HORACE.

Blush not, my Friend, to own the Love
Which thy fair Captive's Eyes do move:
Achilles, once the Fierce, the Brave,
Stoopt to the Beauties of a Slave;
Tecmessa's Charms could over-power
Ajax her Lord and Conquerour;
Great Agamemnon, when Success
Did all his Arms with Conquest bless;
When Hector's fall had gain'd him more
Than ten long rolling Years before,
By a bright Captive Virgin's Eyes
Even in the midst of Triumph dies.
You know not to what mighty Line
The lovely Maid may make you join;
See but the Charms her Sorrow wears,
No common Cause could draw such Tears:
Those Streams sure that adorn her so
For Loss of Royal Kindred flow:
Oh! think not so divine a thing
Could from the Bed of Commons spring;
Whose Faith could so unmov'd remain,
And so averse to sordid Gain,
Was never born of any Race
That might the noblest Love disgrace.
Her blooming Face, her snowy Arms,
Her well shap'd Leg, and all her Charms
Of her Body and her Face,
I, poor I, may safely praise.
Suspect not Love the youthful Rage
From Horace's delining Age,
But think remov'd, by forty Years,
All his Flames and all thy Fears.