Classic Poem

I.

Prepar'd to rail, resolv'd to part,
When I approach the perjur'd fair,
What is it awes my tim'rous heart?
Why does my tongue forbear?

II.

With the least glance a little kind,
Such wondrous pow'r have Mira's charms,
She calms my doubts, enslaves my mind,
And all my rage disarms.

III.

Forgetful of her broken vows,
When gazing on that form divine,
Her injur'd vassal trembling bows,
Nor dares her slave repine.