Which spoil'd his purpose quite.
Disarm'd he knew not what to do,
Nor how to Crown his Love;
At last resolv'd, away he flew,
Another shape to prove.
A lustful Satyr straight return'd,
In hopes his Form wou'd take:
For many Nymphs for them have burn'd,
Burn'd 'cause they could not speak.
Ophelia had no sooner spy'd,