 | The odes, epodes and Carmen Seculare of Horace (1719) |  |
EPODE III. To Mæcenas.
Let Parricides and guilty Wretches feedOn Garlick, an infectious Weed,
As rank as Hemlock; 'tis a stinking Feast,
Which only Rusticks can digest.
My Bowels burn with that envenom'd Food:
Or am I drunk with Viper's Blood?
The Witches at their midnight Revels met,
With such a Dish each other treat.
When Jason, for his Strength and Beauty fam'd,
The monstrous Bulls in Battel tam'd,
With this Medea, who his Safety fear'd,
Her lovely Argonaut besmear'd:
With this the Hagg reveng'd her injur'd Love,
Then through the Air her Dragons drove.
This Potion breeds more noxious burning Pains,
Than when the raging Dog-Star reigns.
119
When the invenom'd Shirt he wore.
Therefore take heed, if you, my dearest Knight,
In such detested Food delight,
May the next Nymph you love, your Kisses scorn,
And from your loath'd Embraces turn.
| The odes, epodes and Carmen Seculare of Horace (1719) | |