She had, in beauty’s aid, a fair pretence To cultivated, strong intelligence; For she a clear and ready mind had fed With wholesome food; unhurt by what she read. She loved to please; but, like her dangerous sex, To please the more whom she design’d to vex. This heard Sir Owen, and he saw it true; } It promised pleasure, promised danger too; } But this he knew not then, or slighted if he knew. 170} Yet he delay’d, and would by trials prove That he was safe; would see the signs of love; Would not address her while a fear remain’d; But win his way, assured of what he gain’d. This saw the lady, not displeased to find A man at once so cautious and so blind; She saw his hopes that she would kindly show Proofs of her passion—then she his should know: “So, when my heart is bleeding in his sight, His love acknowledged will the pains requite; 180 It is, when conquer’d, he the heart regards; Well, good Sir Owen! let us play our cards.” He spake her praise in terms that love affords, By words select, and looks surpassing words. Kindly she listen’d, and in turn essay’d To pay th’ applauses—and she amply paid, A beauty flattering!—beauteous flatterers feel The ill you cause, when thus in praise you deal; For surely he is more than man, or less, When praised by lips that he would die to press, 190 And yet his senses undisturb’d can keep, Can calmly reason, or can soundly sleep. Not so Sir Owen; him Camilla praised, And lofty hopes and strong emotions raised; This had alone the strength of man subdued; But this enchantress various arts pursued. Let others pray for music—others pray’d In vain; Sir Owen ask’d, and was obey’d; Let others, walking, sue that arm to take— Unmoved she kept it for Sir Owen’s sake; 200 Each small request she granted, and though small, He thought them pledges of her granting all. And now the lover, casting doubt aside, Urged the fond suit that—could not be denied; Joy more than reverence moved him when he said; “Now banish all my fears, angelic maid!” And, as she paused for words, he gaily cried, “I must not, cannot, will not be denied.” Ah! good Sir Owen, think not favours, such As artful maids allow, amount to much; 210 The sweet, small, poison’d baits, that take the eye And win the soul of all who venture nigh. Camilla listen’d, paused, and look’d surprise, Fair witch! exulting in her witcheries! She turn’d aside her face, withdrew her hand, And softly said, “Sir, let me understand.” “Nay, my dear lady! what can words explain, If all my looks and actions plead in vain? I love”—She show’d a cool, respectful air; And he began to falter in his prayer, 220 Yet urged her kindness—-Kindness she confess’d; It was esteem; she felt it, and express’d, For her dear father’s friend; and was it right That friend of his—she thought of hers—to slight?