It could just as easily have been a casual footpadding.

In the coarſe Drudgeries, and Sinks of Senſe, / Your Souls have quite worn out the Make of Heav'n, / By Vice new-caſt, and Creatures of your own: […]

Her Sea-god syre she dearely did perswade, T'endow her sonne with threasure and rich store, Boue all the sonnes, that were of earthly wombes ybore.

How chickenshit of that girl to just stand there and do nothing.