Again Endorsing The Lady, Ii

I thought that I was wholly free, That I had Love upon the shelf; "Hereafter," I declared in glee, "I'll have my evenings to myself." How can such mortal beauty live? (Ah, Jove, thine errings I forgive!) Her tresses pale the sunlight's gold; Her hands are featly formed and taper; Her--well, the rest ought not be told In any modest family paper. Fair as Ischomache, and bright As Brimo. Quæque queen is right. O goddesses of long ago, A shepherd called ye sweet and slender. He saw ye, so he ought to know; But sooth to her ye must surrender. O may a million years not trace A single line upon that face!