Epodes 15 (Creech): Nox Erat

'TWas Mid-night, and the rising Moon
Amongst the lesser Stars serenely shone,
When you the false, the Perjur'd you
Devoutly Swore you would be always true:
Scarce half so close doth Ivy twine
Round Oakes, as you did then your Arms in mine:
As long as Wolves pursue the Sheep,
As long as Winter Storms shall toss the deep:
As long as wanton Gales shall move
Apollo's Locks, so long shall be my Love.
Perjur'd Neaera false as Hell,
Yet fair as Heaven, and ah belov'd too well,
How shalt thou mourn at my disdain!
For sure if Horace be but half a Man,
He'l scorn to bear repeated slights,
Nor tamely see his Rival's happy Nights;
But with an equal Flame pursue
A Face as fair, tho not so false as you:
And know when I begin to hate,
I'le ne're be kind, I am as fixt as Fate:
And Thou, the Blest, who'ere thou art
The fancy'd happy Master of her Heart;
That dost thy Conquests proudly boast,
And Triumph'st in the spoils that I have lost,
Tho Thou art rich as Misers Dreams,
And tho Pactolus brought Thee all his Streams,
Tho Fam'd Pythagoras Arts be thine,
Thy Face more fair than Nireus, half Divine;
Yet thou shalt mourn to find that she
Doth prove as false as once to Me,
And then 'twill be my turn to laugh at Thee.