Odes 1.33 (Gladstone): Albi, Ne Doleas

Albius! for Glycera, the pitiless,
Grieve not too much: nor worsen thy distress
With sickly verse, if some young rival beat thee,
And broken promise cheat thee.

Low-browed Lycoris burns for Cyrus, he
Bends wholly to the icy Pholoe;
But sooner wolves th' Apulian goats will wed,
Than she th' adulterous bed

Will stoop to touch. So Venus doth incline
Discordant minds and bodies to combine,
And drives the twain beneath a brazen yoke,
'Tis her own savage joke.

Me, when a worthier passion sought to gain me,
In willing bonds did Myrtale enchain me,
Slave-born, and rough, as Adria's waves are rough
Round some Calabrian bluff.