Stored in a cask ne’er broach’d, my best
Of unguents for thy hair exprest,
With roses fresh, invite to stay;
Come, snatch thyself from dull delay.
View not for aye moist Tibur’s glade,
With Æsula’s inclining side,
And rocks where erst his refuge made
Telegonus, the parricide.
II.
Leave loathed plenty, and retire