O, Then, What Graces In My Love

Like As The Waves Make Towards The Pebbl'd Shore, So Do Our Minutes, Hasten To Their End.

The Tempter Or The Tempted, Who Sins Most? Ha! Not She: Nor Doth She Tempt: But It Is I That, Lying By The Violet In The Sun, Do As The Carrion Does, Not As The Flower, Corrupt With Virtuous Season.

The Dear Father Would With His Daughter Speak, Commands Her Service; Are They Inform'd Of This?

A Happy Ending Cannot Come In The Middle Of The Story

I Wish You Well And So I Take My Leave, I Pray You Know Me When We Meet Again.