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Title: Jealousy
Author: Franklin P. Adams [
More Titles by Adams]
AD LYDIAM
Horace: Book I., Ode 13.
"Quem tu, Lydia, Telephi
Cervicem roseam, cerea Telephi--"
What time thou yearnest for the arms
Of Telephus, I fain would twist 'em;
When thou dost praise his other charms
It just upsets my well-known system;
My brain is like a three-ring circus,
In short, it gets my capra hircus.
My reason reels, my cheeks grow pale,
My heart becomes unduly spiteful,
My verses in the Evening Mail
Are far from snappy and delightful.
I put a civil question, Lyddy:
Is that a way to treat one's stiddy?
What mean those marks upon thee, girl?
Those prints of brutal osculation?
Great grief! that lowlife and that churl!
That Telephus abomination!
Can him, O votary of Venus,
Else everything is off between us.
O triply beatific those
Whose state is classified as married,
Untroubled by the green-eyed woes,
By such upheavals never harried.
Ay, three times happy are the wed ones,
Who cleave together till they're dead ones.
[The end]
Franklin P. Adams's poem: Jealousy
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