No herb there is, nor root in spot
However wild, that I have not;
Yet every common harlot’s bed
Seems with some rare Nepenthe spread,
For there he lives in swinish drowse,
Of me oblivious, and his vows!
He is, aha! protected well
By some more skilful witch’s spell!
But, Varus, thou (doom’d soon to know
The rack of many a pain and woe!)