Ode IX. to the Dauphin D'auvergne, and Count Guy His Cousin

Ye faithless allies where is fled The martial flame your breasts that fed? The venal faith ye gave your friend In vain to other lords ye lend In hopes of hire. For I, ye ween, Am poor your feats to pay!

Soon as my sovereign flag I show Ye sure shall find a lion-foe. I know ye well. In vain ye rear Enormous forts to hide your fear. Go where the dames may praise your mien: Go grace the festal day.

Yet thou, O herald of my heart, My song, on wings of wind depart: Instruct the Chiefs, if peace their aim, They yet my former love may claim. Let slaves with fraud their purpose screen: Far from that shame be they!