To’ve check’d that flame when first it did begin,
E’er you the slighted Victory had won,
And a poor harmless Virgin quite undone:
And what is worse, you’ve made her love you too.
Fred. Faith, that’s the greater mischief of the two;
I know to such nice virtuous Souls as thine,
My juster Inclination is a Crime:
But I love Pleasures which thou canst not prize,
Beyond dull gazing on thy Mistress Eyes,
The lovely Object which enslaves my Heart,