And strove with scatter’d smiles, yet scarcely strove,
To keep the lover, while she scorn’d his love.
These, and his hope, the doubtful man sustain’d;
For who that loves believes himself disdain’d?— 80
Each look, each motion, by his fondness read,
Became Love’s food, and greater fondness bred;
The pettiest favour was to him the sign,
Of secret love, and said, “I’ll yet be thine!”
One doleful year she held the captive swain,
Who felt and cursed, and wore and bless’d, the chain;