The Tyrian hugs and fonds thee on her breast,
And with sweet kisses in her arms constrains,
Thou mayst infuse thy venom in her veins.”
Horace, in the ode to Lydia, in which he gives such free expression to his jealousy (Ode XIII.), refers with considerable point and feeling to the osculatory attentions of his rival. The following translation is by Bulwer-Lytton:
“When thou the rosy neck of Telephus,
The waxen arms of Telephus, art praising,
Woe is me, Lydia, how my jealous heart
Swells with the anguish I would vainly smother!
“Then in my mind thought has no settled base,