A decent grace; without it, youth and charms 330
Are loathsome. This the skilful virgin knows:
So doubtless do your wives. For married sires,
As well as lovers, still pretend to taste;
Nor is it less (all prudent wives can tell)
To lose a husband’s, than a lover’s heart. 335
But now the hours and seasons when to toil,
From foreign themes recall my wandering song.
Some labour fasting, or but slightly fed,
To lull the grinding stomach’s hungry rage: