Millions fall prostrate, and for mercy call:
Yet still in vain he makes his court to thee;
Thou scarce vouchsafes him one auspicious smile.
See lovers too, in yon sequester’d grove,
Seek lonely walks, and spend their sighs in vain,
For thee! For what? for some bewitching fair,
Whose smiles they deem can boundless bliss secure:
Their views contracted would thee thus confine.
Nor art thou found in Hymen’s sacred rites,
Though silken cords of sweet affection bind.