Now raised to rapture, now to terror doom’d—
Was not the goddess by the girl assumed?
Did not my Emma use her skill to hide—
Let us be frank—her weakness and her pride?
Did she not all her sex’s arts pursue,
To bring the angel forward to my view?
Was not the rising anger oft suppress’d? 250
Was not the waking passion hush’d to rest?
And, when so mildly sweet you look’d and spoke,
Did not the woman deign to wear a cloak?