“Caught by all her glittering trinkets, And her borrowed braids of hair, And a host of made-up beauties That would Love himself ensnare.”

’Twas a lie, and so I told her, And her cousin at the word Gave me his defiance for it; And what followed thou hast heard.

Mine is no high-flown affection, Mine no passion par amours ⁠— As they call it⁠—what I offer Is an honest love, and pure.

Cunning cords 144 the holy Church has, Cords of softest silk they be; Put thy neck beneath the yoke, dear; Mine will follow, thou wilt see.