V.
So, take thy mate and all his wealth,
And all the joys that wait on fame.
Thou'lt weep,—poor martyr'd one!—by stealth,
And think of me, and shriek my name;
Yes, in his arms! And wake, too late,
To coax and kiss the man you hate.
VI.
By slow degrees, from year to year,
From week to week, from night to night,