Fool! take up thy shaft again.
      If thy store 
Thou profusely spend in vain,
   Who can furnish thee with more?
Throw not then away thy darts 
On impenetrable hearts.

Think not thy pale flame can warm
      Into tears, 
Or dissolve the snowy charm
   Which her frozen bosom wears,
That expos'd unmelted lies 
To the bright suns of her eyes.

But since thou thy power hast lost,
      Nor canst fire
Kindle in that breast, whose frost
   Doth these flames in mine inspire: 
Not to thee but her I'll sue, 
That disdains both me and you!