Come, let me change my sour for sweet,
And smile complacent as before;
Hear me my palinode repeat,
And give me back your heart once more.
He professes bitter jealousy of a handsome stripling whose beauty Lydia praises (I, xiii). She is wasting her admiration; she will find him unfaithful; Horace knows him well:
Oh, trebly blest, and blest for ever,
Are they, whom true affection binds,
In whom no doubts nor janglings sever
The union of their constant minds;