Now, now, my heart's my own again, The vict'ry's won, no more I'll grieve; My mind's at peace, 'tis eased of pain And now I shall with pleasure live. Lovers from your IDOL fly, He's the common ENEMY; Let him flatter, let him smile, All his drifts are to beguile: His poison he distills, By cunning ARTS, Into our HEARTS, And then with torment kills; Trust not his deluding FACE, Dang'rous is his kind embrace; Believe not what you hear or see, For He's made up of TREACHERY; Nor be by TRICKS into his ambush charm'd, The more HE naked seems, the more He's arm'd. |