458. Upon Love.
Love, I have broke
Thy yoke,
The neck is free;
But when I'm next
Love-vexed,
Then shackle me.
'Tis better yet
To fret
The feet or hands,
Than to enthral
Or gall
The neck with bands.
Thy yoke,
The neck is free;
But when I'm next
Love-vexed,
Then shackle me.
'Tis better yet
To fret
The feet or hands,
Than to enthral
Or gall
The neck with bands.
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