GetPassage urn:cts:latinLit:phi0959.phi001.perseus-eng2:1.2.16-1.2.35 urn:cts:latinLit:phi0959.phi001.perseus-eng2:1.2.16-1.2.35

The hard-mouth'd horse smarts for his fierce disdainThe gentle's ridden with a looser rein.Love smooths the gentle, but the fierce reclaims;He fires their breasts, and fills their souls with flames.I yield; great Love, my former crimes forgive,Forget my rebel thoughts, and let me live;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;