In tower'd courts, is oft in shepherds' cells),
And too-too well the fair vermillion knew
And silver tincture of her cheeks that drew
The love of every swain. On her this god
Enamour'd was, and with his snaky rod
Did charm her nimble feet, and made her stay,
The while upon a hillock down he lay,400
And sweetly on his pipe began to play,
And with smooth speech her fancy to assay,
Till in his twining arms he lock'd her fast,