But that 'tis said Apollo once complained
570No herb to cure love's fevers could be gained.
Whilst an opinion of her matchless grace
Scorchèd my bosom with affection's gleams,
Mine eyes ne'er straggled to another face,
Nor could I bathe my thoughts in Lethe's streams.
But now I'll sound retrait; reclaim my mind,
Not catch a falling star, nor grasp the wind.'
This said, with sparkling sack he wash'd the lane,
Which to the limbeck of his body leads—