Odes 1.33 (Creech): Albi, Ne Doleas

COme dry thine Eys, and cease to mourn,
Think not too much on Glycera's scorn:
Let no complaining Songs proclaim,
That she, regardless of her Vows,
Her wanton smiles bestows
Upon a later, and a meaner flame.

Lycoris fair for Cyrus burns,
She loves, but meets no kind returns;
Ill-natur'd Pholöe Cyrus Charms,
But sooner shall the Lambs agree
With cruel Wolves, than she
Shall take so base a Wanton in her Arms.

Thus Venus sports, the Rich, the Base,
Unlike in Fortune, and in Face
To disagreeing Love provokes;
When cruelly jocose
She ties the fatal noose,
And binds Unequals to the brazen Yokes.

This is the Fate that all must prove,
The sure unhappiness of Love;
Whilst fairer Virgins did adore
And courted Me, I Myrtal woo'd
As rough as Adria's flood
That bends the Creeks of the Calabrian shore.