That's It

That's It

That's it: he owns you heart and soul and mind,
Which are now quite imprisoned in his breast,
Chained to his flesh; guarded by firm ideas,
Whose inquisition cannot be declined,
As he perverts your scruples and invests
Excitement in your cries and moans and tears;

Leashed in this prison, you're pleased to atone:
He charged you once his eyes made the arrest;
And you've pleaded true passion which appears
To gift his heart and soul and mind; he'll own:
That's it!