Recit. <br />Beneath a verdant laurel's ample shade <br />His lyre to mournful numbers strung, <br />Horace, immortal bard supinely laid, <br />To Venus thus address'd the song; <br />Ten thousand little loves around, <br />Listening dwelt on every sound. <br /> <br />Ariet. <br />Potent Venus, bid thy son <br />Sound no more his dire alarms: <br />Youth on silent wings is flown; <br />Graver years come rolling on, <br />Spare my age unfit for arms: <br />Safe and humble let me rest, <br />From all amorous care released. <br />Potent Venus, bid thy son <br />Sound no more his dire alarms. <br /> <br />Recit. <br />Yet, Venus, why do I each morn prepare <br />The fragrant wreath for Cloe's hair? <br />Why, why do I all day lament and sigh, <br />Unless the beauteous maid be nigh? <br />And why all night pursue her in my dreams <br />Through flowery meads and crystal streams? <br /> <br />Recit. <br />Thus sung the bard, and thus the goddess spoke: <br />Submissive bow to Love's imperious yoke; <br />Every state and every age <br />Shall own my rule and fear my rage: <br />Compell'd by me, thy Muse shall prove <br />That all the world was born to love. <br /> <br />Ariet. <br />Bid thy destined lyre discover <br />Soft desire and gentle pain: <br />Often praise, and always love her; <br />Through her ear her heart obtain. <br />Verse shall please and sight shall move her, <br />Cupid does with Phoebus reign.<br /><br />Matthew Prior<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cantata-set-by-mons-galliard/
