"Ah! Love, arrest this wight who runs so free,

  Outstripping my slow feet, or me install

  In the condition whence thou tookest me,

  Such as I was, ere thine or other's thrall.

  — Alas! how vain the hope! that thou shouldst be

  Ever to pity moved by suppliant call,

  Who sport, yea feed and live, in streams that rise

  From the distracted lover's brimming eyes.