Lyd. While Horace was an honest lad,
And Chloe less than Lydia lov'd,
Lydia was then a matchless Lass,
And in a sphere 'bove Ilia mov'd.
Hor. But Chloe now has vanquish'd me,
10That lute and voice who could deny?
Methinks might I but save her life,
I could myself even dare to die.
Lyd. Young Calais is my gallant,
He burns me with his flaming eye;