But O Yet More Miserable! Myself My

A Short Retirement Urges A Sweet Return.

For The Air Of Youth, Hopeful And Cheerful, In Thy Blood Will Reign A Melancholy Damp Of Cold And Dry To Weigh Thy Spirits Down, And Last Consume The Balm Of Life.

Those Whom Reason Hath Equalled, Force Hath Made Supreme

Herbs, And Other Country Messes, Which The Neat-handed Phillis Dresses.

Sweet Intercourse Of Looks And Smiles; For Smiles From Reason Flow.