Thus simply pleas’d, and innocent likewise,
I caught, at last, Lothario’s wanton eyes.
About fifteen, my face had Nature’s bloom,
My lips enticing, and my breath perfume!
My eyes, like sloes, were glossy, black, and bright!
My shape was slender, and my steps were light!
He saw me tripping o’er the dewy lawn,
Brisk as the lambkins, or the bounding fawn;
He hail’d my beauties in so soft a speech,
Which sure a heart less kind than mine might reach;