Ah why with such mischievous care
Arrange those Locks around thy face
But to lead captive by a hair
And wound by every varying grace
And why that scarf of glowing hue
With flame, they slender form attire
Ah! ’tis an emblem sad yet true
Of the fierce flame in which they slaves expire
Love is a burthen, which two hearts
When equally they bear their parts
With pleasure carry; but no one,
Alas! can bear it long alone
Constantius