Woe's me! they hold some miser's bills at last, XXIV. CYNTHIA'S PRIDE. Falsa est ista tuae, mulier, fiducia formae. TRUST to thy beauty! woman, 'tis a dream; I'm now ashamed I shrined thee in my lays. In thee I lauded every varied grace, Though thine was ne'er, Love knows, a pretty face; While pigments did thy hueless cheek adorn,— * Naufragus Aegaea vera fatebar aqua. -This is the reading adopted by most editors; Paley, with the Cdd., reads fatebor. Of Love's fell furnace then I felt the pains, And had my hands behind me bound with chains ; For all the prayers I breathed to Heaven above XXV. FAREWELL. Risus eram positis inter convivia mensis. CYNTHIA, at banquets people laughed at me; Now thou shalt bite thy nails and shed sad tears. Hence with thy tears! they've tricked me oft before; But my deep wrong shall stem the stream of woe. Our yoke was light, but thou wouldst not be true. Hide as thou wilt thy years, be thine dark cares ! Then wish to pluck each silver tress, while stares In turn, an outcast, suffer proud disdain, Dread then thy beauty's doom—thy lot at last. |