One cup of Nectar having pav'd the way;
"Oh! why so dead to my emploring eyes,
Deaf to my prayer, and speechless to my sighs?
Sure never Nymph of old, my darling Boy,
When Men intreated, and when we were coy,
Was prest so warmly by a bleeding swain,
Or shot from killing eyes such cold disdain."
And thus will run wild Flavia's Billetdoux,
The writing bold, and e'en the spelling true:
150