A hundred heroes try’d her love to gain;
She pity’d them, yet did their suits deny;
Young Albyn only courted not in vain,
Albyn alone was lovely in her eye:
Love filled their bosoms with a mutual flame;
Their birth was equal, and their age the same.
Her mother Mey, a woman void of truth,
In practice of deceit and guile grown old,
Conceived a guilty passion for the youth,
And in his ear the shameful story told;