Odes 4.13 (Creech): Audivere, Lyce

THe Gods have heard, Lyce, the Gods have heard
The Gods have heard my Prayer,
As I have wish'd, and you have feard,
Your'e old, yet would be counted fair:

You toy, you impudently drink to raise
Your lazy dull desire,
You strive to highten to a blaze
With your cold breath the dying fire.

In vain, 'tis all in vain, coy Cupid flys,
A better Seat He seeks,
In young soft Chloe's Face he lyes,
And gently wantons in her Cheeks:

Coy he flies o're dry Oaks, he scorns thy Face,
Because a furrow'd Brow
And hollow Eyes thy form disgrace,
And o're thy head Age scatters Snow.

Nor can thy costly dress the Eastern Shore
With all the Gems it bears
Thy former lovely Youth restore,
Nor bring thee back thy scatter'd Years,

Those Years which the Eternal wheel hath spun,
And drawn beyond thy Prime,
Thro which swift Day hath nimbly run
And shut in known Records of Time.

Where is that Beauty, where that charming Air,
That shape, that Amorous Play,
Oh what hast thou of her! of Her!
Whose every look did Love inspire,
Whose every breathing fan'd my fire,
And stole me from my self away!

To lovely Cynera's Face set next in Fame
For all that can surprize,
For all those Arts that raise a Flame,
And kindly feed it at our Eyes;

But hasty Fate cut charming Cynera short,
That Fate that now prepares
Old Lyce, old as Daws for sport,
And scorn as grievous as her Years.

When our hot Youths shall come, and laugh to see
The Torch that burnt before;
And kindled aged Lechery,
To Ashes fall'n, and warm no more.