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“Yet say who, peradventure, shall secure his soul from Cupid armed with artful snare ’mid the live roses, human snow so pure, the gold and alabaster crystal-clare? who ’scapeth Beauty’s wiles and per’egrine lure, the true Medusa-face so awful fair, which man’s imprison’d, witch-bound heart can turn no, not to stone, but flames that fiercely burn?