Alas! could fond woman but know
What anguish love brings in his train,
She would fly from the treacherous foe,
And render his stratagems vain.
While we hail him a seraph divine,
While our bosoms with rapture beat high,
His toils round our senses entwine,
And leave us to languish and sigh.
Oh trust not to flattering man,
Of his specious delusions beware;
Escape from his arts while you can,
You are ruin'd if caught in his snare.