This lovesick virgin, overjoy’d to find The boy alone, still follow’d him behind; When glowing warmly at her near approach, As sulphur blazes at the taper’s touch, She long’d her hidden passion to reveal And tell her pains, but had not words to tell; She can’t begin, but waits for the rebound To catch his voice, and to return the sound.

The nymph, when nothing could Narcissus move, Still dash’d with blushes for her slighted love, Lived in the shady covert of the woods, In solitary caves and dark abodes, Where pining wander’d the rejected fair, Till harass’d out and worn away with care, The sounding skeleton, of blood bereft, Besides her bones and voice, had nothing left. Her bones are petrified, her voice is found In vaults, where still it doubles every sound.