“Good-by, My Lover, Good-by!”
AD PYRRHAM
Horace: Book I, Ode 5.
“Quis multa gracilis te puer in rosa—”
O pretty Pyrrha, false as fair,
For whom dost thou do up thy hair,
Thy crown of gold, thy shining tresses?
What gracile youth gives thee caresses?
For whom dost thou do up thy hair,
Thy crown of gold, thy shining tresses?
What gracile youth gives thee caresses?
Alas! How often shall he find
The faithlessness of womankind!
As who should say, in utter wonder,
“How fair it was! Who thought of thunder?”
The faithlessness of womankind!
As who should say, in utter wonder,
“How fair it was! Who thought of thunder?”
Ah—wretched they that think thee fair,
Enmeshed in thy seductive snare!
I vow, by Neptune, ne’er to woo thee
Again, for I am jerry to thee.
Enmeshed in thy seductive snare!
I vow, by Neptune, ne’er to woo thee
Again, for I am jerry to thee.
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