Be warn’d by me, and shun th’ alluring snare.
It is by some deem’d cowardice to fly,
But sure it more ignoble is to die:
To die, I’m frantic, sir; what did I say?
Reason once more resume thy wonted sway;
Kind heaven defend us from such dire alarms;
Who would a victim fall to female charms?
I find I’m better while your lines I read,
I’m almost from my Gallic fetters free’d.
As you alone were partner of my grief,