“I must be loved,” said Sybil; “I must see
The man in terrors who aspires to me;
At my forbidding frown his heart must ache,
His tongue must falter, and his frame must shake:
And if I grant him at my feet to kneel,
What trembling, fearful pleasure must he feel;
Nay, such the raptures that my smiles inspire,
That reason’s self must for a time retire.”
“Alas! for good Josiah,” said the dame,
“These wicked thoughts would fill his soul with shame;