Let him lament, who plays a slavish part, Whom two bright eyes and lovely tresses please:
Beneath which beauties lurks a wanton heart With little that is pure, and much of lees.
The wretch would fly; but bears in him a dart, Like wounded stag, whichever way he flees;
Dares not confess, yet cannot quench, his flame, And of himself and worthless love has shame.
