In spite of all, with wrinkled pate,
The censures each rehearses,
Enarda I will celebrate
For ever in my verses.
[TO ENARDA.—II.]
Cruel Enarda! all in vain,
In vain, thou view’st with joyful eyes
The tears that show my grief and pain,
Thyself exulting in my sighs.
The burning tears that bathe my cheek,