This Younger Fairer pleads her rightful Charms:
With present Power compels me to her Arms.
And much I fear, from my subjected Mind
(If Beauty's Force to constant Love can bind)
That Years may roll, e'er in Her turn the Maid
Shall weep the Fury of my Love decay'd;
And weeping follow Me, as Thou dost now,
With idle Clamours of a broken Vow.