TO PYRRHA.
Horace
What dainty youth, bedewed with liquid perfumes, caresses you, Pyrrha,
beneath the pleasant grot, amid a profusion of roses? For whom do you
bind your golden hair, plain in your neatness? Alas! how often shall he
deplore your perfidy, and the altered gods; and through inexperience be
amazed at the seas, rough with blackening storms who now credulous
enjoys you all precious, and, ignorant of the faithless gale, hopes you
will be always disengaged, always amiable! Wretched are those, to whom
thou untried seemest fair? The sacred wall [of Neptune's temple]
demonstrates, by a votive tablet, that I have consecrated my dropping
garments to the powerful god of the sea.
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