Beneath a thatch, where gadding woodbine flower'd,
About the lattice and the porch embower'd,
An aged widow lived, whose calm decline,
Clung on one hope, her lovely Caroline.
Her lovely Caroline, in virtue blest,
As morning snow, was spotless and unprest.
Her tresses unadorn'd a braid controll'd,
Her pastoral russet knew no civic gold.
In either cheek an eddying dimple play'd,
And blushes flitted with a rosy shade.