University of Virginia Library

THE EIGHTH ODE OF THE Second Book of Horace.

If ever any injur'd Power,
By which the false Barine swore,
False, fair Barine, on thy Head
Had the least Mark of Vengeance shed;
If but a Tooth or Nail of thee
Had suffer'd by thy Perjury,
I should believe thy Vows; but thou
Since perjur'd dost more charming grow,
Of all our Youth the publick Care,
Nor half so false as thou art Fair.
It thrives with thee to be forsworn
By thy dead Mother's sacred Urn,
By Heaven and all the Stars that shine
Without, and every God within:
Venus hears this, and all the while
At thy empty Vows does smile,
Her Nymphs all smile, her little Son
Does smile, and to his Quiver run;
Does smile and fall to whet his Darts,
To wound for thee fresh Lovers Hearts.
See all the Youth does thee obey,
Thy Train of Slaves grows every Day;
Nor leave thy former Subjects thee,
Tho' oft they threaten to be free,
Tho' oft with Vows false as thine are,
Their forsworn Mistress they forswear.
Thee every careful Mother fears
For her Son's blooming tender Years;
Thee frugal Sires, thee the young Bride
In Hymen's Fetters newly ty'd,
Lest thou detain by stronger Charms
Th'expected Husband from her Arms.