ELEGY THE TENTH

TO VENAL BEAUTY


Why, if my sighs thou wert so soon to scorn,
Didst dare on Heaven with perjured promise call?
Ah! not unpunished can men be forsworn;
Silent and slow the perjurer's doom shall fall.

Ye gods, be merciful! Oh! let it be
That beauteous creatures who for once offend
Your powers divine, for once may go scot-free,
Escape your scourge, and make some happy end!

'Tis love of gold binds oxen to the plough,
And bids their goading driver sweat and chide;
The quest of gold allures the ship's frail prow
O'er wind-swept seas, where stars the wanderers guide.

By golden gifts my love was made a slave.
Oh, that some god a lover's prayer might hear,
And sink such gifts in ashes of a grave,
Or bid them in swift waters disappear!

But I shall be avenged. Thy lovely grace
The dust of weary exile will impair;