To the Rose. A Song

Go, happy rose, and interwoveWith other flowers, bind my love.Tell her, too, she must not beLonger flowing, longer free,That so oft has fetter'd me.Say, if she's fretful, I have bandsOf pearl and gold to bind her hands.Tell her, if she struggle still,I have myrtle rods (at will)For to tame, though not to kill.Take thou my blessing, thus, and goAnd tell her this, but do not so,Lest a handsome anger fly,Like a lightning, from her eye,And burn thee up as well as I.