Epodes 14 (Creech): Mollis Inertia

YOu ask, My Lord, why lazy sloth hath spread
A dark oblivion o're my Head;
As I had drank forgetful Lethe's Stream;
And this is your continual Theme;
This the Complaint I am Condemn'd to hear,
Like Death it pierces thro my Ear:
A God forbids me, (ah! a cruel God
Regardless, Sir, of what I vow'd)
(To other things my easy Mind he drew)
To finish what I promis'd you:
Thus soft Anachrean for Bathyllus burn'd,
And oft his Love he sadly mourn'd:
He to his Harp did various grief reherse,
And wept in an unpolisht Verse:
E'en, Sir, you Love, but if no brighter Flame
Burnt Troy, caress thy lovely Dame:
By Phyrne, ah! thy Horace is undone,
False, fair, and not content with one.