Echoes from the Sabine Farm. Гораций

quite de trop, I'm thinking;

      Brace up, my boys, and hush your noise,

      And drown your wrath in drinking.

      Aha, 't is fine,—this mellow wine

      With which our host would dope us!

      Now let us hear what pretty dear

      Entangles him of Opus.

      I see you blush,—nay, comrades, hush!

      Come, friend, though they despise you,

      Tell me the name of that fair dame,—

      Perchance I may advise you.

      O wretched youth! and is it truth

      You love that fickle lady?

      I, doting dunce, courted her once;

      Since when, she's reckoned shady!

      TO QUINTUS DELLIUS

      Be tranquil, Dellius, I pray;

      For though you pine your life away