What strange Sensations in his Bosom move,
When first the Lover feels the Flames of Love!
With pleasing Joy he meditates the Fair,
Her Voice, her Smiles, her Shape, her ev'ry Air:
Each blooming Charm the kindling Fire blows,
'Till like a Furnace his whole Bosom glows:
Graceful her Image rises o'er his Soul,
Takes full Possession, and commands the whole.

He trembling, now, at awful Distance moves,
And, fearful, tells the lov'd One how he loves;
From her fair Lips, submissive, waits his Doom,
While his pale Cheeks lose all their rosy Bloom;
Watchful, observes each Motion of her Eyes,
And as she frowns, or smiles, revives, or dies.

But if the Fair with Pity hears his Vows,
Receives his Passion, and his Flame allows,
Grateful, infolds him in her snowy Arms,
And for his Pain rewards him with her Charms;
Ungenerous He no longer owns her Sway,
But in return refuses to obey:
His Flame extinguisht, now, he sighs no more,
But basely slights whom He ador'd before;
The Scene reverst, contrary Passions rise,
She 'tis who follows now,--and He who flies.