No foe; but one, alas! too near allied, And wishing still much nearer to be tied. The forms of decency let age debate, And virtue’s rules by their cold morals state; Their ebbing joys give leisure to inquire, And blame those noble flights our youth inspire: O pardon and oblige a blushing maid, Whose rage the pride of her vain sex betray’d, Nor let my tomb thus mournfully complain⁠— Here Byblis lies, by her loved Caunus slain.”

Forced here to end, she with a falling tear Temper’d the pliant wax which did the signet bear The curious cipher was impress’d by art, But love had stamp’d one deeper in her heart. Her page, a youth of confidence and skill (Secret as night), stood waiting on her will; Sighing, she cried, “Bear this, thou faithful boy, To my sweet partner in eternal joy.” Here a long pause her secret guilt confess’d; And when, at length, she would have spoken the rest, Half the dear name lay buried in her breast.