The Surrender

I yield, I yield! Divine Althaea, see
How prostrate at thy feet I bow,
Fondly in love with my captivity,
So weak am I, so mighty thou!
Not long ago I could defy,
Arm'd with wine and company,
Beauty's whole artillery:
Quite vanquish'd now by thy miraculous charms,
Here, fair Althaea, take my arms,
For sure he cannot be of human race,
That can resist so bright, so sweet a face.