Lovely Selina, innocent and free
From all the dangerous arts of love,
Thus in a melancholy grove
Enjoy'd the sweetness of her privacy.
Till envious gods, designing to undo her,
Depatch'd the swain not unlike to woo her.

It was not long e'er the design did take:
A gentle youth, born to persuade,
Deceiv'd the too, too easy maid.
Her scrip and garland she did forsake,
And rashly told the secrets of her heart,
Which the fond man would ever more impart.

False Florimel, joy of my heart, said she,
'Tis hard to love, and love in vain;
To love, and not be lov'd again.
And why should love and prudence disagree?
Pity ye pow'rs, that sit at ease above,
If e'er you know what 'tis to be in love!