Her magic from a neighbor's field the coming crop can charm,
Or stop the viper's lifted sting before it work thee harm.
Such magic would the riding moon from her white chariot spill,
Did not the brazen cymbals' sound undo the impious ill!
But fear not thou thy smitten swain of lures and sorcery tell,
Thy beauty his enchantment was, without inferior spell.
To touch thy flesh, to taste thy kiss, his freedom did destroy;
Thy beauteous body in his arms enslaved the hapless boy.
Proud Pholoe! why so unkind, when thy young lover pleads?
Remember Venus can avenge a fair one's heartless deeds!
Nay, nay! no gifts! Go gather them of bald-heads rich and old!
Ay! let them buy thy mocking smiles and languid kisses cold!
Better than gold that youthful bloom of his round, ruddy face,
And beardless lips that mar not thine, however close th' embrace.
If thou above his shoulders broad thy lily arms entwine,
The luxury of monarchs proud is mean compared with thine.
May Venus teach thee how to yield to all thy lover's will,
When blushing passion bursts its bounds and bids thy bosom thrill.
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