Ah, Chloris! could I now but sit
  As unconcern'd as when
Your infant beauty could beget
  No happiness nor pain!
When I this dawning did admire,
  And praised the coming day,
I little thought that rising fire
  Would take my rest away.

 ... 

My passion with your beauty grew,
  While Cupid at my heart,
Still as his mother favour'd you,
  Threw a new flaming dart:
Each gloried in their wanton part;
  To make a beauty, she 
Employed the utmost of her art; 
To make a lover, he.