Metin
She tried her magic, charm on charm renew'd;
He with a merry gale his course pursu'd;
No force or skill the fatal dart removes,
She raves to find she loves-but still she loves.
To thousand shapes she could transform mankind,
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No means to change her hated self could find.
In these soft terms, to her departing guest,
Her passion (to detain him) was exprest.
"I now no more (as when I first receiv'd
Those hopes and you, by both alike deceiv'd)
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Expect that you with me should pass your life,
Nor more ambitious to be made your wife;
(Though sure my pedigree you cannot scorn;
The daughter of the son, a goddess born)
I but intreat you for a time to stay,
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And urge, for your own sake, the short delay.
The seas are rough, which you have cause to fear;
Wait but a friendlier season of the year.
What haste? This isle does no new Troy afford,
No second Rhesus to employ your sword.
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