No more Love's subjects, but his slaves they be,
That dare not o'er a glass of wine be free,
But quit, for fear of friends, their liberty.
Fond Neobule! thou art lazy grown,
Away thy needle, web, and distaff thrown,
Thou hop'st thy work by Hebrus will be done.
A sturdy youth, and a rank rider he,
Can run a race, and box most manfully,
Swim like a duck, and caper like a flea.
He hunts the stag, and all the forest o'er 10
With strength and craft pursues the savage boar:
He minds the sport, and thou desir'st no more.