Oh, Cupid; why must you make me captive
To those hot twins of passion: love and hate?
Shall my heart burn e'en as my mind misgives?
Will my wit to madness be subjugate?
Archer, aim thy arrows some other way,
Lest I be shipwrecked on rocks of regret;
Left alone to drown beneath waves of pain.
Thou seest I dread thy infection, yet,
If music be the food of love, I pray
Thee, direct a symphony for the ears.
Bestow thy gift on my heart that it may
Kindle a new flame to wither all fear.
Grant thou a hand to hold, and lips to kiss;
A soul with whom to share eternal bliss.