13. To Cotta
A CARRIAGE bears your pampered horde along,
A Libyan toils behind to guard the throng,
Your rooms are strewn with couches everywhere,
You stain the very sea with unguents rare,
Fine vintages your crystal goblets crown,
And Venus lies not on a softer down;
Yet at the threshold of a haughty fair
All night you lie—she heeds not tear or prayer—
Sighs rend your heart—I know beyond a doubt
What's wrong—you never learned to do without.
A Libyan toils behind to guard the throng,
Your rooms are strewn with couches everywhere,
You stain the very sea with unguents rare,
Fine vintages your crystal goblets crown,
And Venus lies not on a softer down;
Yet at the threshold of a haughty fair
All night you lie—she heeds not tear or prayer—
Sighs rend your heart—I know beyond a doubt
What's wrong—you never learned to do without.
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