The Queen of Beauty weeps amain
To hear her harmless Dove complain
That yonder Rose, so fondly prest,
Has wounded her confiding breast;
That bosom which in love she sought,
With all inviting odours fraught,
As soft and snowy as her own,
Such cruel treachery has shown,
Betrayed her to the ambushed thorn,
Her bosom pierced, her vesture torn!
Then thus the Queen of Flow'rs upbraids
The culprit Rose: " Go seek the shades! —
Henceforth that tell-tale crimson stain,
Ne'er to be cleansed by dew or rain,
Shall fix a blush upon the breast,
Where Love in safety could not rest".