GetPassage urn:cts:latinLit:phi0959.phi001.perseus-eng2:1.2.22-1.2.40 urn:cts:latinLit:phi0959.phi001.perseus-eng2:1.2.22-1.2.40

No need of force: I willingly obey,And now unarm'd, shall prove no glorious prey.Go take thy mother's doves, thy myrtle crown,And for thy chariot, Mars shall lend his own;There thou shalt sit in thy triumphant pride,And, whilst glad shouts resound on ev'ry side,Thy gentle hands thy mother's doves shall guide.And there to make thy glorious pomp and state,A train of sighing youths, and maids shall wait,Yet none complain of an unhappy fate.There newly conquer'd I, still fresh my wound,Will march along, my hands with myrtle bound;There modesty, with veils thrown o'er her face,Now doubly blushing at her own disgrace;There sober thoughts, and whatso'er disdainsLove's rules, shall feel his power, and bear his chains:Then all shall fear, all bow, yet all rejoice;"Io triumphe" be the public voice.Thy constant guards, soft fancy, hope and fear,