3570And after these, ah! thousand more, and nearer
Seals of thy love, must slights unseal your lips?
A puny mistress-hunter well may fear her,
When pride at high noon can my sun eclipse.
Fury! lend me thy poison, Rage! thy breath,
That I, by pride doomed, may doom beauty death.
You pale-faced shadows of the gloomy isles,
Fill up my gall, and lend me all your pow'rs,
To torture women who, enriched with wiles,
From their moist eyes send forth dissembling show'rs.