I straight inpatient for the trial grew, What courtship back’d with richest gifts could do. Aurora’s envy aided my design, And lent me features far unlike to mine. In this disguise to my own house I came, But all was chaste, no conscious sign of blame With thousand arts I scarce admittance found, And then beheld her weeping on the ground For her lost husband: hardly I retain’d My purpose, scarce the wish’d embrace refrain’d. How charming was her grief! Then, Phocus, guess What killing beauties waited on her dress. Her constant answer, when my suit I press’d, ‘Forbear, my lord’s dear image guards this breast; Where’er he is, whatever cause detains, Whoe’er has his, my heart unmoved remains.’ What greater proofs of truth than these could be? Yet I persist, and urge my destiny. At length she found, when my own form return’d, Her jealous lover there, whose loss she mourn’d. Enraged with my suspicion, swift as wind, She fled at once from me and all mankind; And so became, her purpose to retain, A nymph, and huntress in Diana’s train.