Epodes of Horace - Epode 11

Pettius no more I verses write;
My bosom glows with fiercer fire;
No more I sing, no more delight
To handle the melodious lyre.
Venus, the sacred Sisters dispossest,
Invades my soul, and rages in my breast.

Thrice has December strip'd the tree
And thrice deform'd the verdant year
Since from Inachia's charms set free
I first forsook the scornfull fair.
I then (my cheeks still glow with shame) was grown
The sport of boys, and scandall of the town.

No feasts could e'er my cares dispell;
Sighs issued from my heaving breast;
The pains I labour'd to conceal
My silence and my groans confess'd.
Then when repeated bowls unlock'd the heart
To thee I told the causes of my smart,

To thee I then with tears complain'd
That all the fair their favours sold;
No wit nor honesty could stand
Against th'omnipotence of gold
And wish'd my rising anger could remove
Those anxious fears that fan'd the flame of Love.

Then would I free from torments live
And quit Inachia's venal charms
Nor with too powerfull rivals strive
But take another to my arms.
Thus I t'effect this mighty change design'd
And gainst the pow'r of Venus steel'd my mind.

But being counsell'd to go home
And see my mistress face no more
Confus'd about the streets I roam
And stop'd unwilling at her door.
Then to the inclement skies expos'd I sat
And sigh'd and wept at her relentless gate.

Lyciscus whose soft arms excell
A girls, inflames me with desire;
Nor counsells nor reproach expell
The raging of the kindled fire
But the next blooming virgin's beauteous face
Or boy, whose snowy neck the flowing ringlets grace.
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Horace
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