Book 3 — Book III. Ode IX. Horace and Lydia.

Hor. While I was lovely in thine eye, And while no soft embrace but mine Encircled thy fair ivory neck, I did the Persian King outshine. 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; To save the pretty villain's life, Twice over I could dare to die. Hor. But say I Lydia lov'd again, And would new-braze Love's broken chain? Say I should turn my Chloe off, 20And take poor Lydia home again? Lyd. Why then though he a fixèd star. Thou lighter than a cork shouldst be, Mad, and unquiet as the sea, Yet would I live, and die with thee.