To him alike are always known,
Reserv'd for him, and him alone.
Ah Lesbia! though 'tis death to me,
I cannot choose, but look on thee;
But at the sight, my senses fly,
I needs must gaze, but gazing die;
Whilst trembling with a thousand fears,
Parch'd to the throat, my tongue adheres.
My pulse beats quick, my breath heaves short,
My limbs deny their slight support.