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IX.
HORACE.
While I had power to bless you,
Nor any round that neck his arms did fling
More privileged to caress you,
Happier was Horace than the Persian king.
LYDIA. While you for none were pining
Sorer, nor Lydia after Chloe came,
Lydia, her peers outshining,
Might match her own with Ilia's Roman fame.
H. Now Chloe is my treasure,
Whose voice, whose touch, can make sweet music flow:
For her I'd die with pleasure,
Would Fate but spare the dear survivor so.
L. I love my own fond lover,
Young Calais, son of Thurian Ornytus:
For him I'd die twice over,
Would Fate but spare the sweet survivor thus.
H. What now, if Love returning
Should pair us 'neath his brazen yoke once more,
And, bright-hair'd Chloe spurning,
Horace to off-cast Lydia ope his door?
L. Though he is fairer, milder,
Than starlight, you lighter than bark of tree,
Than stormy Hadria wilder,
With yon to live, to die, were bliss for me.
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Donec Gratus Eram.
'Donec gratus eram tibi
nec quisquam potior bracchia candidae
ceruici iuuenis dabat,
Persarum uigui rege beatior.'
'Donec non alia magis 5
arsisti neque erat Lydia post Chloen,
multi Lydia nominis,
Romana uigui clarior Ilia.'
'Me nunc Thressa Chloe regit,
dulcis docta modos et citharae sciens, 10
pro qua non metuam mori,
si parcent animae fata superstiti.'
'Me torret face mutua
Thurini Calais filius Ornyti,
pro quo bis patiar mori, 15
si parcent puero fata superstiti.'
'Quid si prisca redit Venus
diductosque iugo cogit aeneo,
si flaua excutitur Chloe
reiectaeque patet ianua Lydiae?' 20
'Quamquam sidere pulchrior
ille est, tu leuior cortice et inprobo
iracundior Hadria,
tecum uiuere amem, tecum obeam lubens.'
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