Old Figurines

Like as an infant, beaten by its mother or but half conquered in a wayward quarrel, tired, falls asleep, with its little fists tight clenched and with tear-wet eyelids,—

So does my passion, O fair Lalage, sleep in my bosom; nor thinking, nor caring, whether in rosy May-time wander playing the other happy infants in the sun.

O wake 't not, Lalage! or thou shalt hear my passion, like a very God of battles, putting an end to sports so innocent, to flay the very heavens with its raging!

ODI BARBARE.