Thy beauteous body in his arms enslaved the hapless boy.

Proud Pholoe! why so unkind, when thy young lover pleads?
Remember Venus can avenge a fair one's heartless deeds!

Nay, nay! no gifts! Go gather them of bald-heads rich and old!
Ay! let them buy thy mocking smiles and languid kisses cold!

Better than gold that youthful bloom of his round, ruddy face,
And beardless lips that mar not thine, however close th' embrace.

If thou above his shoulders broad thy lily arms entwine,
The luxury of monarchs proud is mean compared with thine.

May Venus teach thee how to yield to all thy lover's will,
When blushing passion bursts its bounds and bids thy bosom thrill.

Go, meet his dewy, lingering lips in many a breathless kiss!
And let his white neck bear away rose-tokens of his bliss!

What comfort, girl, can jewels bring, or gems in priceless store,
To her who sleeps and weeps alone, of young love wooed no more?

Too late, alas! for love's return, or fleeting youth's recall,
When on thy head relentless age has cast the silvery pall.

Then beauty will be anxious art,--to tinge the changing hair,
And hide the record of the years with colors falsely fair.

To pluck the silver forth, and with strange surgery and pain,