With thee I’ll live—or hang in earnest.
[HORACE. BOOK III., ODE IX.
Horace.—Whilst I was fond, and you were kind,
Nor any dearer youth, reclined
On your soft bosom, sought to rest,
Not Persia’s monarch was so blest.
Lydia.—Whilst you adored no other face,
Nor loved me in the second place,
Your Lydia’s celebrated fame
Outshone the Roman Ilia’s name.