The lovely Felice of the present day
Dreads not her lord should from her presence stray;
He feels the charm that binds him to a seat
Where love and honour, joy and duty, meet.
But forty days could Guy his fair afford;
Not forty years would weary Warwick’s lord.
He better knows, how charms like hers control
All vagrant thoughts, and fill with her the soul;
He better knows, that not on mortal strife, 90
Or deeds of blood, depend the bliss of life—