The Trophy

NOW, now, my Heart's my own again,
The Vict'ry's won, no more I'll grieve;
My Mind's at Peace, 'tis eas'd of Pain
And now I shall with Pleasure live.
Lovers from your IDOL fly,
He's the common ENEMY;
Let him flatter, let him smile,
All his Drifts are to beguile;
His Poison he distills,
By cunning ARTS,
Into our HEARTS,
And then with torment kills;
Trust not his deluding FACE,
Dang'rous is his kind Embrace;
Believe not what you hear or see,
For He's made up of TREACHERY;
Nor be by TRICKS into his Ambush charm'd,
The more He naked seems, the more He's arm'd