Classic Poem

Cum tu, Lydia … You know the rest—
Praising the waxen arms and breast
?Of Telephus you drove me mad.
?You made the sunniest moments sad,
While tortures racked my heaving chest.
Oh, I could see you softly dressed,
Inciting him with amorous zest;
?And hear you whisper low, “My lad,
Come to Lydia.”
Now you repent … Your arms protest
That they have been too roughly pressed.
?Oh gain your senses; leave the cad,
?And heed me as again I add:
Awake! Love is no giddy jest.
Come to! Lydia!