The Ninth Ode of the Third Book of Horace, Imitated

Hor. While you for me alone had Charms,
And none more welcome fill'd your Arms,
Proud with content, I slighted Crowns,
And pitied Monarchs on their Thrones.

Lyd. While you thought Lydia only fair,
And lov'd no other Nymph but her,
Lydia was happier in your Love,
Than the bless'd Virgins are above.

Hor. Now Chloes charming Voice, and Art
Have gain'd the conquest of my Heart:
For whom, ye Fates, I'd wish to die,
If mine the Nymphs dear Life might buy.

Lyd. Thyrsis by me has done the same,
The Youth burns me with mutual Flame:
For whom a double Death I'd bear;
Would Fate my dearest Thyrsis spare.

Hor. But say, fair Nymph, if I once more
Become your Captive as before?
Say, I throw off my Chloes chain,
And take you to my Breast again?

Lyd. Why then, tho he more bright appear,
More constant than a fixed Star;
Thou you than Wind more fickle be,
And rougher than the stormy Sea.
By Heav'n, and all its Pow'rs I vow
I'd gladly live, and die with you.