"Haply, shalt thou, his scorn subdue, Thy helpless innocence to save; But if unmov'd, he turns from you, I'll lead him to my mother's grave "Sure, waken'd there, remorse shall rise, And bid his perjur'd bosom shed, That tender tear, my heart denies, Cold, icy cold, congeal'd, and dead.

But reason saith thou shouldst the same subdue.