Ode 15.

Wedded to needy Ibycus,1
Cease, wanton Chloris, loosely thus2
Fitter for burial thou, than ball!3
To bound, at each gay festival ;4
Descried ’mid blooming maids at play,5
Like black cloud on the Milky Way.6
That well may grace bright Pholoe,7
Which ill beseems such crone as thee.8
Fitlier thy daughter would become,9
Like Bacchante roused by beat of drum,10
To storm young gallants’ doors, or fired11
By Nothus, frisk as goat untired.12
Thine age Luceria’s fleeces suit13
And distaff, more than lyre or lute, 14
Or flask drain’d dry, or round the brow15
Entwined the rose’s damask glow.16