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The herd of fops the frantick humour take, Each keeps a capon, loves its mincing gate, Its flowing hair, and striving all it can, In changing mode and dress, t' appear a man. Behold the wilder luxury of Rome, From Africk furniture, slaves, tables come, And purple carpets made in Africk loom.
Behold! they are now flying from the dance: you may see them running to the shore, and, frantick as it were with joy, demanding with open arms an instantaneous passage to their beloved native plains.
Instead of that, me frantick love detains, 'Mid foes, and dreadful darts, and bloody plains: While you and can my soul the tale believe, Far from your country, lonely wand'ring leave Me, me your lover, barbarous fugitive! Seek the rough Alps where snows eternal shine, And joyless borders of the frozen Rhine. Ah! may no cold e'er blast my dearest maid, Nor pointed ice thy tender feet invade.
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