In Clementinas artless mien
Lucilla asks me what I see,
And are the roses of sixteen
Enough for me?
Lucilla asks, if that be all,
Have I not culld as sweet before:
Ah yes, Lucilla! and their fall
I still deplore.
I now behold another scene,
Where Pleasure beams with Heavens own light,
More pure, more constant, more serene,
And not less bright.
Faith, on whose breast the Loves repose,
Whose chain of flowers no force can sever,
And Modesty who, when she goes,
Is gone for ever.
