I said: the Feast was serv'd: the Bowl was crown'd;
To the King's Pleasure went the mirthful Round:
The Women came: as Custom wills, they past:
On One (O that distinguish'd One!) I cast
The fav'rite Glance: O! yet my Mind retains
That fond Beginning of my infant Pains.
Mature the Virgin was of  Race:
Grace shap'd her Limbs; and Beauty deck'd her Face:
Easy her Motion seem'd, serene her Air:
Full, tho' unzon'd, her Bosom rose: her Hair
Unty'd, and ignorant of artful Aid,
Adown her Shoulders loosely lay display'd;
And in the Jetty Curls ten thousand  play'd.