Where is the captive that should wear my chain?
Alas, poor Sappho, who is this ingrate
Provokes thee so, for love returning hate?
Does he now fly thee? He shall soon return;
Pursue thee, and with equal ardour burn.
Would he no presents at thy hands receive?
He will repent it, and more largely give.
The force of love no longer can withstand;
He must be fond, wholly at thy command.
When wilt thou work this change? Now, Venus free,