Ad Lydiam. Lib. 3. Ode 9. Poem by John Ashmore

The Argvment.
Though late some iarre did them debar
From kindness us'd before:
Yet ioyntly now, they make a vow
Of love for ever-more.

Hor.
While lately Lydia thou didst love me,
When thy white neck I in mine arms (then blest) did fold,
And thou no Gallant grac't above me,
I then the Persian King more happy was inrould.

Lyd.
While Horace thine affections flame
Was firme, and Lydia thou then Chloë 'steemd not less,
Thy Lydia then, of no meane fame,
I liv'd more honor'd then the Roman Emperess.

Hor.
Now Thracian Chlo' has my heart sure,
That sweetly bears a part in prick-song, and can play:
For whom I would deaths paine indure,
If so the Dest'nies would put off her dying day.

Lyd.
Kinde Caläis, and me Love so
Heats with mutuall fire, dispersing clouds of strife,
That twice I death would undergo
If for my Boy I could renew his lease of life.

Hor.
What if old Love to us wing make,
And us now severd, in still lasting links do binde?
If gold-haird Chloë I forsake,
And Lydia my door ne'r shut against her finde?

Lyd.
Though he be fairer then a starre,
Thou lighter then the cork that still doth floting lie,
And angrier then enrag'd Seas farre;
I love with thee to live, with thee I wish to die.