The cruel mother of the Loves,
And other Powers offended,
Have stirred my heart, where newly roves
The passion that was ended.
‘ T is Glycera, to boldness prone,
Whose radiant beauty fires me;
While fairer than the Parian stone
Her dazzling face inspires me.
And on from Cyprus Venus speeds,
Forbidding — ah! the pity —
The Scythian lays, the Parthian meeds,
And such irrelevant ditty.
Here, boys, bring turf and vervain too;
Have bowls of wine adjacent;
And ere our sacrifice is through
She may be more complaisant.