I fear'd, but could not fly.
Since that, for young Lyciscus I'm grown mad;
Inachia such a face ne'er had,
It is a lovely lad.
From his embraces I shall ne'er get free,
Nor friends' advice, nor infamy
Can disentangle me:
40Yet if some brighter object I should spy,
That might perhaps debauch my eye,
And shake my constancy.