Like me, to the extremest anguish drove; Like me, just waking from a dream of love? But stay, O whither would my fury run? What arguments I urge to be undone! Away! fond Byblis, quench these guilty flames, Caunus thy love but as a brother claims; Yet had he first been touch’d with love of me, The charming youth could I despairing see? Oppress’d with grief, and dying by disdain? Ah! no; too sure I should have eased his pain: Since, then, if Caunus ask’d me, it were done, Asking myself, what dangers can I run? But canst thou ask, and see that right betray’d, From Pyrrha down to thy whole sex convey’d? That self-denying gift we all enjoy, Of wishing to be won, yet seeming to be coy. Well, then, for once, let a fond mistress woo, The force of love no custom can subdue; This frantic passion he by words shall know, Soft as the melting heart from whence they flow.” The pencil then in her fair hand she held, By fear discouraged, but by love compell’d; She writes, then blots, writes on, and blots again, Likes it as fit, then razes it as vain;