3 She's such a miser, too, in love,
Its joys she'll neither share nor prove,
Though hundreds of gallants await
From her victorious eyes their fate.

4 Blushing at such inglorious reign,
I sometimes strive to break her chain,
My reason summon to my aid,
Resolved no more to be betray'd.

5 Ah! friend, 'tis but a short-lived trance,
Dispell'd by one enchanting glance;
She need but look, and, I confess,
Those looks completely curse or bless.

6 So soft, so elegant, so fair,
Sure something more than human's there;
I must submit, for strife is vain,
'Twas Destiny that forged the chain.

* * * * *

SONG.

1 Let the nymph still avoid and be deaf to the swain,
Who in transports of passion affects to complain;
For his rage, not his love, in that frenzy is shown,
And the blast that blows loudest is soon overblown.