Metin
Dreams of your mistress ne'er will haunt your sleep.
'Tis easier work, yet 'twill require your care,
The feather'd game with birdlime to ensnare;
Or else for fish your bearded hook to bait,
And for your art's success with patience wait.
215
Thro' sports like these you'll steal into relief,
And while your time you cozen, cheat your grief.
Or travel (tho' you find your fetter strong);
Set out betimes; your journey must be long.
You'll weep at thoughts of her you left behind,
220
And halting, to return be oft inclin'd.
But how much more unwilling to proceed,
Compel your feet to so much greater speed.
Advance, let nothing interrupt your way,
Nor wind nor weather, nor unlucky day.
225
Nor count the miles you've past, but what remain;
For loitering nigh no fond pretences feign.
Nor reckon time, nor once look back on Rome,
But fly; and, Parthian like, by flight o'ercome.
You'll call my precepts hard; I grant they are;
230
