but passion most dissembles yet betrays
even by its darkness; as the blackest sky
foretells the heaviest tempest, it displays
its workings through the vainly guarded eye,
and in whatever aspect it arrays
itself, ´tis still the same hypocrisy.
coldness or anger, even disdain or hate
are masks it often wears, and still too late.
then there were sighs, the deeper for suppression,
and stolen glances, sweeter for the theft,
and burning blushes, though for no transgression,
tremblings when met and restlessness when left.
all theese are little preludes to possession,
of wich young passion cannot be bereft,
and merley tend to show how greatly love is
embarrased at first starting with a novice.