So speaks the trembling Nymph; and, while she speaks,
The pearly Torrents stream adown her Cheeks;
Cold clammy Sweats, and throbbing Sighs arise,
Slow moves the Blood, and dizzy roll her Eyes;
So much affected with her Lover's Fate,
She struggled, groan'd, and fainted from her Seat.
Her Hostess straight a grateful Cordial sought,
And to her Lips applies the chearful Draught,
Washing her Temples with reviving Oil;
The vital Spirits answer to her Toil;
The purple Tide begins to roll again,
Again diffuses Life thro' ev'ry Vein:
And now she sighing, rais'd her drooping Head;
And, Is my Death, she cries, again delay'd?
Why did you check me on the Brink of Fate?
Better the Soul had fled her loathsome Seat.
Death is the only Good I wish to know,
End of my Pain, and Period of my Woe.