And now beg leave my bashful Tongue may own.
The knowledge, Madam, will not much surprise,
Which you have gain’d already from mine Eyes;
My timorous Heart that way my Tongue would spare,
And tells you of the Flames you’ve kindled there:
’Tis long I’ve suffered under this Constraint,
Have always suffer’d, but ne’er made Complaint;
And now against my will I must reveal
What Love and my Respect would fain conceal.
Ism. What mean you, Sir? what have you seen in me,