And reassault me with a trebled pain:
Nay, though I sob in fetters, they
Spare me not then; perplex me each sad day,
And whom a very Turk would pity, slay.
VIII.
70Hence, hence, my Jailors! Thoughts be gone,
Let my tranquillities alone.
Shall I embrace
A crocodile, or place
My choice affections on the fatal dart,