I see her looks when she beholds the men
All crowd about me—she will simper then, 210
And cry with her affected air and voice,
‘O! my sweet Clara, how do I rejoice
At your good fortune!’—‘Thank you, dear,’ say I;
‘But some there are that could for envy die.’”
Mamma look’d on with thoughts to these allied;
She felt the pleasure of reflected pride;
She should respect in Clara’s honour find—
But she to Clara’s secret thoughts was blind;