In my heart’s empire, see
How he rides spitefully,
Rides with imperious will
To ravage, and to kill!

No heart is there, but bright
Gleameth in that moon’s light;
A thousand mirrors, see!
Reflect his coquetry.

To each hand he bath won
Ten realms of Solomon,
Yet gambles with it all
To gain a poor, mean thrall.

The hearts of sucb as know
Swift be assaults; but lo:
Before the unwise, unskilled,
He casteth down his shield.