Classic Poem

Impatient with desire, at last
I ventur'd to lay forms aside:
'Twas I was modest, not she chaste;
Chloe, so gently press'd, comply'd.

With idle awe, an am'rous fool,
I gaz'd upon her eyes with fear:
Say, Love! how came your slave so dull
To read no better there?

Thus, to ourselves the greatest soes,
Altho' the nymph be well inclin'd,
For want of courage to propose,
By our own solly she's unkind.