Oh! I was harsh to say that I could part
From thee; but, Delia, I am bold no more.
Driven like a top, which boys with ready art
Keep spinning round upon a level floor.

Burn, lash me, love, if ever after this
By me one cruel blustering word is said;
Yet spare, I pray thee, by our stolen bliss,
By mighty Venus and thy comely head.

When thou didst lie, by fell disease o'erpowered,
I rescued thee, by prayers, from Death's domain;
Pure sulfur's cleansing fumes I round thee showered,
While an enchantress sung a magic strain.

Yes, and another now enjoys the prize,
And reaps the fruit of all my vows for thee:
Foolish, I dreamed of life 'neath golden skies,
Wert thou but saved — not such great Heaven's decree!

I said I 'll till my fields; she 'll guard my store
When crops are thresht in Autumn's burning heat;
She 'll keep my grapes in baskets brimming o'er,
And my rich must exprest by nimble feet.

She 'll count my flock; some home-born slave of mine
Will prattle in my darling's lap and play:
To rural God ripe clusters for the vine,
Sheaves for my crops, cates for my fold, she 'll pay.

Slaves — all shall own her undisputed rule;
Myself a cipher — how the thought would please!
Here will Messala come, for whom she 'll pull
The sweetest apples from the choicest trees.

And honouring one so great, for him prepare
And serve the banquet with her own white hands.
Fond dream! which now the East and South wind bear
Away to far Armenia's spicy lands.