Horace in London Consisting of imitations of the first two books of the odes of Horace. By the authors of the rejected addresses, or the new theatrum poetarum [Horace and James Smith] |
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| II. |
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| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. | ODE XIX. PLEASING PETULANCE.
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| XX. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
 | II. |
 | Horace in London |  |
70
ODE XIX. PLEASING PETULANCE.
Mater sæva Cupidinum.
Dame Venus, who lives but to vex,
And Bacchus, the dealer in wine,
Unite with the love of the sex,
To harrass this poor head of mine.
Sweet Ellen's the cause of my woe,
'Tis madness her charms to behold,
Her bosom's as white as the snow,
And the heart it enshrines is as cold.
And Bacchus, the dealer in wine,
Unite with the love of the sex,
To harrass this poor head of mine.
Sweet Ellen's the cause of my woe,
'Tis madness her charms to behold,
Her bosom's as white as the snow,
And the heart it enshrines is as cold.
Her petulant frowns have more grace
Than others to smiles can impart;
The roses that bloom in her face
Have planted their thorns in my heart.
Fair Venus, who sprang from the sea,
Despising the haunts of renown,
Leaves Brighton, to frolic with me,
And spend the whole winter in town.
Than others to smiles can impart;
The roses that bloom in her face
Have planted their thorns in my heart.
71
Despising the haunts of renown,
Leaves Brighton, to frolic with me,
And spend the whole winter in town.
I sang of the heroes of Spain,
Who fight in the Parthian mode;
The goddess grew sick at my strain,
And handed to Vulcan my ode:
“Forbear,” she exclaim'd, “silly elf,
“With haughty Bellona to rove,
“Leave Spain to take care of herself,—
“Thy song is of Ellen and love.”
Who fight in the Parthian mode;
The goddess grew sick at my strain,
And handed to Vulcan my ode:
“Forbear,” she exclaim'd, “silly elf,
“With haughty Bellona to rove,
“Leave Spain to take care of herself,—
“Thy song is of Ellen and love.”
Come, Love, bring the Graces along,
That Ellen may melt at my woes,
Let fluent Rousseau gild my tongue,
And Chesterfield turn out my toes.
Ah no! I must wield other arms,
Sweet Ellen, to reign in thy heart,
When Love owes to Nature his charms,
How vain are the lessons of art.
That Ellen may melt at my woes,
Let fluent Rousseau gild my tongue,
And Chesterfield turn out my toes.
Ah no! I must wield other arms,
Sweet Ellen, to reign in thy heart,
When Love owes to Nature his charms,
How vain are the lessons of art.
| Horace in London | |