Horace in Love Again (Epode XI)

Dear Pettius, once I reeled off rhyme
Satiric, sad and tender,
But now my quill
Has lost its skill
And I am dying in my prime
Through love of female gender!
Nay, do not laugh
Nor deign to chaff
Your friend with taunts of Lyde
And other dames
Who've been my flames--
This time it's bona-fide!

I maunder sadly to and fro--
I who was once so jolly!
My old time chums
Gyrate their thumbs
And taunt me, as I sighing go,
With what they term my folly.
I told you once,
Lake a garrulous dunce,
Of my all consuming passion,
And I rolled my eyes
In tragedy wise
And raved in lovesick fashion.

And when I'd aired my woes profound
You volunteered this warning:
"Horace, go light
On the bowl to-night--
Ten hours of sleep will bring you round
All right to-morrow morning!"
Now ten hours sleep
May do a heap
For callow hearts a-patter,
But I tell you, sir,
This affair du coeur
Of mine is a serious matter!