"By all the frauds, which forged in his black breast,
Come forth so white and silvery from his tongue,
My potency he soon shall prove; nor rest
To banquet on the blood of hearts by him unstrung,
"And reft of all their music. Every pain
By him inflicted for his own vile joys
Rend his vile self! fruition not again
Shall crown such arts as now the slave employs!
"But sooth thee, maiden, be thy soul at peace;
Mine be the care to hasten to thy sire
And null thy vow: let every terror cease:
Perfect success attends thy least desire."