“Begone, and seek the blooming bower, Where some ripe virgin courts thy power, Or bid provoking dreams flit round her bed; On Damon’s amorous breast repose; Wanton⁠—on Chloe’s lip of rose, Or make her blushing cheek a pillow for thy head.

“Be such thy haunts; these regions cold Avoid! Nor think grown wise and old This hoary head again thy yoke shall bear: Remembering that my fairest years By thee were marked with sighs and tears, I think thy friendship false, and shun the guileful snare.

“I have not yet forgot the pains I felt, while bound in Julia’s chains; The ardent flames with which my bosom burned; The nights I passed deprived of rest; The jealous pangs which racked my breast; My disappointed hopes, and passion unreturned.