Go; speed your flight o'er land and wave,While Night and Venus shield you; goBe blest: and on my tomb engraveThis tale of woe.”

How unhappy are the maidens who with Cupid may not play,Who may never touch the wine-cup, but must tremble all the dayAt an uncle, and the scourging of his tongue!Neobule, there's a robber takes your needle and your thread,Lets the lessons of Minerva run no longer in your head;It is Hebrus, the athletic and the young!O, to see him when anointed he is plunging in the flood!What a seat he has on horseback! was Bellerophon's as good?As a boxer, as a runner, past compare!When the deer are flying blindly all the open country o'er,He can aim and he can hit them; he can steal upon the boar,As it couches in the thicket unaware.

Bandusia's fount, in clearness crystalline,O worthy of the wine, the flowers we vow!Tomorrow shall be thineA kid, whose crescent brow