Feebler, yet subtler; he shall weave his snares,

And spring them on thy careless steps, and clap

His wither’d hands, and from their ambush call

His hordes to fall upon thee. He shall send

Quaint maskers, forms of fair and gallant mien,

To catch thy gaze, and uttering graceful words

To charm thy ear; while his sly imps, by stealth,

Twine round thee threads of steel, light thread on thread,

That grow to fetters; or bind down thy arms

With chains conceal’d in chaplets. Oh! not yet