Than any poison that the draught possessed;
Mere folly, imposition, all the rest.
TILL then Lucretia had resistance made;
To seem submissive she was still afraid;
The lover was not hated by the belle,
But bashfulness she could not well dispel,
Which, joined to simple manners mixed with fear,
Ungrateful made her, spite of self, appear.
IN silence wrapt, and scarcely drawing breath,
By passion moved, and yet ashamed to death,