He loved her passing well, but not the best;
For self reign’d there; but still he call’d her fair,
And woo’d the Muse, his passion to declare.
His verses all were flaming, all were fine, 150
With sweetness, nay with sense, in every line—
Not as Lord Byron would have done the thing,
But better far than lords are used to sing.
It pleased the Maid, and she, in very truth,
Loved, in Calista’s love, the noble youth;
Not, like sweet Juliet, with that pure delight,