Mothers and rivals she had made afraid,
And wrung the breast of many a jealous maid;
Friendship, the snare of lovers, she profess’d,
And turn’d the heart’s best feelings to a jest.
Yet seem’d the Nymph as gentle as a dove,
Like one all guiltless of the game of love—
Whose guileless innocence might well be gay; }
Who had no selfish secrets to betray; }
Sure, if she play’d, she knew not how to play. 30}
Oh! she had looks so placid and demure,