Explore "Horace I, 5" by Eugene Field on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
What perfumed, posie-dizened sirrah, / With smiles for diet, / Clasps you, O fair but faithless Pyrrha, / On the quiet? / For whom do you bind up your tresses, / As spun-gold yellow -- / Meshes that go with your caresses, / To snare a fellow?
How will he rail at fate capricious, / And curse you duly; / Yet now he deems your wiles delicious -- / _You_ perfect truly! / Pyrrha, your love's a treacherous ocean -- / He'll soon fall in there! / Then shall I gloat on his commotion, / For _I_ have been there!