To Banbury came I, O profane one!

I'd rather die Maid, and lead apes in Hell Than wed an inmate of Silenus' Cell.

Skin more pure than Ida’s snow, Whiter far than Moorish milk, Sweeter than ambrosia too, Softer than the Paphian silk, Indian plumes or thistle-down, Or May-blossoms newly blown,

A wily wench there was (as I have read) Who us’d to capricorn her husband’s head.

The scene was changed. It was a bark that slowly held its way, And o'er its lee the coast of France in the light of evening lay; And on its deck a lady sat, who gazed with tearful eyes Upon the fast receding hills that dim and distant rise.

So All is diff’rent, and yet All is One.

What great Effects from slender Causes flow!