Quod Corinnae soli sit serviturus

To serve a wench if any think it shame,
He being judge, I am convinced of blame.
Let me be slandered, while my fire she hides,
That Paphos, and the flood-beat Cythera guides.
Would I had been my mistress' gentle prey,
Since some fair one I should of force obey.
Beauty gives heart; Corinna's looks excel;
Aye me, why is it known to her so well?
But by her glass disdainful pride she learns,
Nor she herself, but first trimmed up, discerns.
Not though thy face in all things make thee reign
(O face, most cunning mine eyes to detain!),
Thou oughtst therefore to scorn me for thy mate:
Small things with greater may be copulate.
Love-snared Calypso is supposed to pray
A mortal nymph's refusing lord to stay.
Who doubts with Peleus Thetis did consort,
Egeria with just Numa had good sport,
Venus with Vulcan, though, smith's tools laid by,
With his stump foot he halts ill-favouredly.
This kind of verse is not alike, yet fit,
With shorter numbers the heroic sit.
And thou, my light, accept me howsoever,
Lay in the mid-bed, there be my lawgiver.
My stay no crime, my flight no joy shall breed,
Nor of our love to be ashamed we need.
For great revenues, I good verses have,
And many by me to get glory crave.
I know a wench reports herself Corinne:
What would not she give that fair name to win?
But sundry floods in one bank never go,
Eurotas cold, and poplar-bearing Po.
Nor in my books shall one but thou be writ,
Thou dost alone give matter to my wit.