Horace.—Me Chloe now possesses whole;
Her voice and lyre command my soul:
Nor would I death itself decline,
Could I redeem her life with mine.
Lydia.—For me young lovely Calaïs burns,
And warmth for warmth my heart returns.
Twice would I life for him resign,
Could his be ransomed thus with mine.
Horace.—What if the God, whose bands we broke,
Again should tame us to the yoke!