I only fear you, _thus_ too tardy; you alone do I court; you hold the lightning by which you can effect my destruction. Look (and that you may see, loosen the obdurate bars) how the door has been made wet with my tears. At all events, 'twas I, who, when, your garment laid aside, you stood ready for the whip, [064] spoke in your behalf to your mistress as you were trembling. Does then, (O shocking thought!) the credit which once prevailed in your behalf, now fail to prevail in my own favour? Give a return for my kindness; you may _now_ be grateful. As you wish, [065] the hours of the night pass on; [066] from the door-post [067] strike away the bar. Strike it away then may you one day be liberated from your long fetters and may the water of the slave [068] be not for ever drunk of by you. Hard-hearted porter! you hear me, as I implore in vain; the door, supported by its hard oaken _posts_, is still unmoved. Let the protection of a closed gate be of value to cities when besieged; _but_ why, in the midst of peace are you dreading warfare? What would you do to an enemy, who thus shut out the lover? The hours of the night pass on; from the door-post strike away the bar. I am not come attended with soldiers and with arms; I should be alone, if ruthless Love were not here. Him, even if I should desire it, I can never send away; first should I be even severed from my limbs. Love then, and a little wine about my temples, [069] are with me, and the chaplet falling from off my anointed hair. Who is to dread arms _such_ as these? Who may not go out to face them? The hours of the night pass on; from the door-post strike away the bar. Are you delaying? or does sleep (who but ill befriends the lover) give to the winds my words, as they are repelled from your ear? But, I remember, when formerly I used to avoid you, you were awake, with the stars of the midnight. Perhaps, too, your own mistress is now asleep with you; alas! how much superior _then_ is your fate to my own! And since 'tis so, pass on to me, ye cruel chains. The hours of the night pass on; from the door-post strike away the bar. Am I mistaken? Or did the door-posts creak with the turning hinge, and did the shaken door give the jarring signal? Yes, I am mistaken; the door was shaken by the boisterous wind. Ah me! how far away has that gust borne my hopes! Boreas, if well thou dost keep in mind the ravished Orithyia, come hither, and with thy blast beat open this relentless door. 'Tis silence throughout all the City; damp with the glassy dew, the hours of the night pass on; from the door-post strike away the bar. Otherwise I, myself, [073] now better prepared _than you_, with my sword, and with the fire which I am holding in my torch, [074] will scale this arrogant abode. Night, and lore, and wine, [075] are persuasive of no moderation; the first is without shame, Bacchus and Love _are without fear_.