My heart could so tenderly move;
Yet, I’m still at a loss, I must own—
For it cannot—it must not be love.
To her friend thus the shepherdess said,
Who suspected a little deceit,
With smiles she reply’d to the maid,
(Resolv’d to discover the cheat,)
“Suppose he was equally charm’d,
“Say, could you the shepherd approve?”
The nymph of her caution disarm’d,