And sought protection from Diana’s pow’r,
Who thus advis’d: ‘From mountains, sister, fly;
Phœbus loves mountains and an open sky.’
To vales and shady springs she bashful ran,
In thickets hid her charms, but all in vain:
For he her virtue and her flight admir’d,
The more she blush’d, the more the god was fired.
And now his love and wit new frauds prepare,
The goddess cried, ‘Since beauty’s such a snare,
Ah, rather perish that destructive grace.’