I.
What cruel Pains Corinna takes,
To force that harmless Frown:
When not one Charm her Face forsakes,
Love cannot lose his own.
II.
So sweet a Face, so soft a Heart,
Such Eyes so very kind,
Betray, alas! the silly Art
Virtue had ill design'd.
III.
Poor feeble Tyrant! who in vain
Would proudly take upon her,
Against kind Nature to maintain
Affected Rules of Honour.
IV.
The Scorn she bears so helpless proves,
When I plead Passion to her,
That much she fears, (but more she loves,)
Her Vassal should undo her.