LAST Sunday at saint James’s pray’rs,
The prince and princess by,
I, dress’d in all my whale-bone airs,
Sat in a closet nigh.
I bow’d my knees, I held my book,
Read all the answers o’er;
But was perverted by a look,
Which pierc’d me from the door.
High thoughts of heaven I came to use,
With the devoutest care;
Which gay young Strephon made me lose,
And all the raptures there.
He wait to hand me to my chair,
And bow’d with courtly grace;
But whisper’d love into mine ear,
Too warm for that grave place.
Love, love, said he, by all ador’d,
My tender heart has won:
But I grew peevish at the word,
Desir’d he might be gone.
He went quite out of sight, while I
A kinder answer meant;
Nor did I for my sins that day,
By half so much repent.