Mark but this wreath of hair, and you shall see,
None that might wear such fetters would be free!
I once could boast a soul like you,
As unconfin'd as air;
But mine, which force could not subdue,
10Was caught within this snare;
And, by myself betray'd, I, for this gold,
A heart that many storms withstood, have sold.
No longer now wise Art inquire,
With this vain search delighted,