[Tasso, Aminta:] From the AMINTA of TASSO. 

THO' we, of small Proportion see
 And slight the armed Golden Bee;
 Yet if her Sting behind she leaves,
 No Ease th' envenom'd Flesh receives. 
Love, less to Sight than is this Fly,
 In a soft Curl conceal'd can lie;
 Under an Eyelid's lovely Shade,
 Can form a dreadful Ambuscade;
 Can the most subtil Sight beguile,
 Hid in the Dimples of a Smile. 
But if from thence a Dart he throw,
 How sure, how mortal is the Blow
 How helpless all the Pow'r of Art
 To bind, or to restore the Heart! 
