A hermit, whom you'll find beneath yon' beech,
Can, better far than I, their virtues teach;
Go, seek him, pray, make haste if you are sage;
I ne'er retain such birds within my cage.
This having said, at once he left the belle,
And wisely shut the door, and barred his cell:
Not trusting hair-cloth, fasting, age, nor gout;
With beauty, anchorites themselves should doubt.
OUR pensive fair soon found the person meant,
A man whose soul was on religion bent;