Chapter I: Horace: Book III, Ode 9

"Donec gratus eram tibi--"

HORACE

When I was your stiddy, my loveliest Lyddy, And you my embraceable she, In joys and diversions, the king of the Persians Had nothing on me.

LYDIA

When I was the person you penned all that verse on, Ere Chloe had caused you to sigh, Not she whose cognomen is Ilia the Roman Was happier than I.

HORACE

Ah, Chloe the Thracian--whose sweet modulation Of voice as she lilts to the lyre Is sweeter and fairer? Would but the Fates spare her I'd love to expire.

LYDIA

Tush! Calais claims me and wholly inflames me, He pesters me never with rhymes; If they should spare Cally, I'd perish to_tal_ly A couple of times.

HORACE

Suppose my affection in Lyddy's direction Returned; that I gave the good-by To Chloe the golden, and back to the olden?-- I pause for reply.

LYDIA

Cheer up, mine ensnarer! Be Calais fairer Than stars, be you blustery and base, I'll love you, adore you; in brief, I am for you All over the place.