When she goes out, beware! And if she hie
To Bona Dea, where no males may be,
Straight to the sacred altars follow I,
Who only trust her if my eyes can see.

Oh! oft I pressed that soft hand I adore,
Feigning with some rare ring or seal to play,
And plied thee with strong wine till thou didst snore,
While I, with wine and water, won the day.

I wronged thee, aye! But 'twas not what I meant.
Forgive, for I confess. 'Twas Cupid's spell
O'er-swayed me. Who can foil a god's intent?
Now have I courage all my deeds to tell.

Yes, it was I, unblushing I declare.
At whom thy watch-dog all night long did bay:--
But some-one else now stands insistent there,
Or peers about him and then walks away.

He seems to pass. But soon will backward fare
Alone, and, coughing, at the threshold hide.
What skill hath stolen love! Beware, beware!
Thy boat is drifting on a treacherous tide.

What worth a lovely wife, if others buy
Thy treasure, if thy stoutest bolt betrays,
If in thy very arms she breathes a sigh
For absent joy, and feigns a slight _malaise?_