My sad days bring worse nights, and every hour
Fills me some cup of gall and brims it o'er.

What use are songs? Her greedy hands disdain
Apollo's gift. She says some gold is due.
Farewell, ye Muses, I have sung in vain!
Only in quest of _her_ I followed _you_.

I sing no wars; nor how the moon and sun
In heavenly paths their circling chariots steer.
To win my lady's smiles my numbers run;
Farewell, ye Muses, if ye fail me here!

Let deeds of bloody crime now make me bold!
No longer at her bolted door I whine;
But I will find that necessary gold,
Though I steal treasure from some holy shrine.

Venus I first will violate; for she
Compelled my crime, and did my heart enthrall
To beauty that requires a golden fee.
Yes, Venus' shrine shall suffer worst of all.

Curse on that man who finds the emerald green,
And Tyrian purples for our flattered girls!
He makes them greedy. Now they must be seen
In Coan robe and gleaming Red Sea pearls.

It spoils them all. Now bolts and barriers hold
Their doors, and watch-dogs threaten through the dark;