But ne'er frequent the wanton theatre,
Where vain desires in all their pomp appear;
From music, dancing, and an am'rous part,178
Perform'd to th' life, how can you guard your heart?
Against myself I frank confession make;
Into your hands no am'rous poet take,179
Whose Syren muses draw the list'ning throng,
And charm them into ruin by their song.
Callimachus first from your sight remove.
Banish Philetas next; they're friends to love.
How oft have Sappho's odes set me one fire!
Who can contain, that hears Anacreon's lyre?
Who reads Tibullus must his passion feel;
Propertius can dissolve a heart of steel:
Nor Gallus fails the coldest breast to warm;
And e'en my muse has found the art to charm.
But if Apollo, who conducts my song,
Secure me in this point from guessing wrong,
The pain with which most sensibly you're griev'd,
Is on th' account of jealousy conceiv'd.
No fear of rivals must your heart torment:
For true, or false, yet for your own content,
At least persuade yourself that you have none,
And that the harmless creature sleeps alone.
Orestes ne'er could find his nymph had charms,
Till he beheld her in another's arms.
Why, Menelaus, dost thou now take on?
In Crete you long could sauntering stay alone;
Your Helen's absence ne'er disturb'd your rest:
No sooner fled she with her Trojan guest,
The royal cuckold raves, and he must make
A ten years' war, to fetch the harlot back.
'Twas on this score the fierce Achilles wept;
With Agamemnon his Briseis slept.180
Good cause to weep, the maiden toy was got,
Or great Alcides was a sov'reign sot.
His game of love were Ovid to have play'd,
The poet had the better hero made.
At last, with gifts he did the loss restore,
And that she was untouch'd profoundly swore,
Swore by his sceptre; nor can that seem odd;
He knew his sceptre but a wooden god.181
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