When you were mine in auld lang syne,
And when none else your charms might ogle,
I'll not deny,
Fair nymph, that I
Was happier than a Persian mogul.
Before she came — that rival flame!—
( Was ever female creature sillier? )
In those good times,
Bepraised in rhymes,
I was more famed than Mother Ilia!
Chloe of Thrace! With what a grace
Does she at song or harp employ her!
I'd gladly die
If only I
Might live forever to enjoy her!
My Sybaris so noble is
That, by the gods! I love him madly —
That I might save
Him from the grave
I'd give my life, and give it gladly!
What if ma belle from favor fell,
And I made up my mind to shake her,
Would Lydia, then,
Come back again
And to her quondam flame betake her?
My other beau should surely go,
And you alone should find me gracious;
For no one slings
Such odes and things
As does the lauriger Horatius!