TO GLYCERA

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.