"Ah spare," I cried, "thy patient tresses spare!To hurt them is a sin: this needless toilForbear, and do not, what adorns thee, spoil.'Tis now too late to give your labour o'er,Those tortur'd ringlets are, alas ! no more.Ah, cease the cruel thought, and cease to passSuch irksome minutes at your faithful glass !In vain thou seek'st thy silken locks to find;Banish the dear remembrance from thy mind.No weeds destroy'd them with their pois'nous juice,Nor canst thou witches' magic charms accuse,Nor rival's rage, nor dire enchantment blame,Nor envy's blasting tongue, nor fever's flame.The mischief by thy own fair hands was wrought;Nor dost thou suffer for another's fault.How oft I bade thee, but in vain, bewareThe venom'd essence, that destroy'd thy hair?Now with new arts thou shalt thy pride amuse,