The Odes, Satyrs, and Epistles of Horace Done into English.

ODE XI. To Mercury, and his Shell, whom He desires to move Lyde, and tells the Story of Danaus's Daughters:

SWeet Mercury (for taught by you The listning Stones Amphion drew) And pleasing Shell, well skill'd to raise From seven stretcht strings the sweetest Lays; Once mute, but now a Friend to Feasts, To cheer the Gods, and Rich-mens guests, Play Tunes, as may provoke to hear E'en Lydes coy denying Ear.

She like a Colt frisks o're the Plain, A Rider hates, nor takes the Rein; Unable yet to bear the force And strength of the obliging Horse: You Tigers, you the listning Woods Can draw and stop the rapid Floods, E'en Cerberus thy force confest, Well-pleas'd He lay, and lull'd in rest, Tho thousand hissing Serpents spread And guard around his horrid Head, And Gore foam'd round his tripple Tongue He gently list'ned to thy Song: Ixion, Tytius heard below, And smil'd but with a gloomy Brow: The leaky Tub a while was dry, And Danaus Race stood idle by, Whilst thy harmonious Tunes did please They smil'd at their unusual ease; Begin sweet Lays, let Lyde hear What Crimes they did, what Pains they bear, Tell how their Tub can nought retain, But still gives space for idle pain; How Vengeance comes, tho moving slow, And strikes the guilty Souls below: They could, (could Hell contrive a blacker deed) Their Husbands stab, and smile to see them bleed: But one more Worthy of the Name of Wife The hopes and end of every Virgin's Life, Her perjur'd Father bravely disobey'd, And lives thro future Age a glorious Maid: With Love and Pity in her look She wakt her Spouse, and thus she spoke,

Fly, fly, lest Fate should seize thy breath, And sleep be lengthned into Death: Fly, fly, thy unexpected Fate, My Sisters Rage, and Fathers Hate, Like Lionesses on a Steer They grin, and tear, ah me! they tear: More tender I'le not strike the blow, Nor keep Thee from a fiercer Foe: Me let me Father load with Chains, Joyn Wit and Cruelty in Pains; Me let him send to Lybian Shores, Mid'st Poysnous Snakes, and swarthy Moors, For saving you, I'le gladly bear, Nor show I'me Woman by a Tear: Fly, fly, dear Partner of my Bed, Whilst Night can hide, and Venus lead, Fly, fly, let happy Omens wait, And guide Thee thro gloomy Fate; Remember me, and o're my Grave Write this in a complaining Epitaph: