“Nay, then I know the secrets you would hide;

Some early longings these, without dispute,

Some youthful gaspings for forbidden fruit:

Why so disorder’d, love? are such the crimes

That give us sorrow in our graver times?

Come, take a present for your friend, and rest

In perfect peace - you find you are confess’d.”

This cloud, though past, alarm’d the conscious wife,

Presaging gloom and sorrow for her life;

Who to her answer join’d a fervent prayer