XXII.
And prompt the ſcenerie roſe, where liſtleſs lay
The Knight in ſhady bowre, by ſtreamlet lavd,
While Philomela ſooth'd the parting day:
Here Kathrin him approachd with features gay,
And all her ſtore of blandiſhments and wiles;
The Knight was touchd—but ſhe with ſoft delay
And gentle teares yblends her languid ſmiles,
And of baſe falſitie th' enamourd Boy reviles.
XXIII.
And, faultring oft, exclaims with wondring ſtare,
What mean theſe ſighs? diſpell thine ydle feares;
And, confident in me, thy griefes declare.
And need, quoth ſhe, need I my heart to bare,
And tellen what untold well knowne mote be?
Loſt is my friends good-will, my mother's care—
By you deſerted—ah! unhappy me!
Left to your Aunts fell ſpight, and weakfull crueltie.
