Classic Poem

Lysidicë doth bring to thee,
Dear Cyprian, the goad
Wherewith she won the mastery
When she on horseback rode,
And on her comely leg did wear
This cunning piece of golden gear.

On her no spur was ever used
To reach her journey's end,
Her tender thighs were scarcely bruised,
So lightly did she bend;
And now she hangs within thy fane
The tool she ne'er will need again.