Rashly I swore I would disown
Your altars and your pow'r,
All your vain idols, Love, throw down,
And never worship more.
As much resolv'd I would forget
Lucinda's gilded charms,
Her shape, her beauty, and her wit,
Which tempt me to her arms.

But vain are our weak vows when love
Does feed the active fire,
And treacherous sighs his agents prove,
To make it blaze the higher.
In vain preservatives are us'd
To any other part,
When the infection has diffus'd
Itself into the heart.