So two sear trees, dry, stunted, and unsound,
Each other catch, when dropping to the ground:
Entwine their withered arms ’gainst wind and weather,
And shake their leafless heads and drop together:
So two cold limbs, touch’d by Galvani’s wire,
Move with new life, and feel awaken’d fire;
Quivering awhile, their flaccid forms remain,
Then turn to cold torpidity again.
“But ever frowns your Hymen? man and maid,
Are all repenting, suffering, or betray’d?”