When Dion's care was fond about us both.
His kisses guard my lips. His praise of you
Will block your words in my assaulted ears.
Oc. You know me not. My words shall be love's fire
Burning the track of Dion's pale discourse.
My kisses on your lips hold festal war
With his till they, poor ghosts, shall flee. And dews
Of happiness shall wash all pictures out
From your fair eyes but my enthron�d own
Which hourly I'll new-set in their fair glass!