Chapter XXIII: Book III: ODE IX. Horace and Lydia

_Hor._ While I was lovely in thine eye,
And while no soft embrace but mine
Encircled thy fair ivory neck,
I did the Persian King outshine.

_Lyd._ While Horace was an honest lad,
And Chloe less than Lydia lov'd,
Lydia was then a matchless Lass,
And in a sphere 'bove Ilia mov'd.

_Hor._ But Chloe now has vanquish'd me,
That lute and voice who could deny? 10
Methinks might I but save her life,
I could myself even dare to die.

_Lyd._ Young Calais is my gallant,
He burns me with his flaming eye;
To save the pretty villain's life,
Twice over I could dare to die.
_Hor._ But say I Lydia lov'd again,
And would new-braze Love's broken chain?
Say I should turn my Chloe off,
And take poor Lydia home again? 20

_Lyd._ Why then though he a fixèd star.
Thou lighter than a cork shouldst be,
Mad, and unquiet as the sea,
Yet would I live, and die with thee.

BOOK III. ODE XII.

No more Love's subjects, but his slaves they be,
That dare not o'er a glass of wine be free,
But quit, for fear of friends, their liberty.

Fond Neobule! thou art lazy grown,
Away thy needle, web, and distaff thrown,
Thou hop'st thy work by Hebrus will be done.

A sturdy youth, and a rank rider he,
Can run a race, and box most manfully,
Swim like a duck, and caper like a flea.

He hunts the stag, and all the forest o'er 10
With strength and craft pursues the savage boar:
He minds the sport, and thou desir'st no more.