Oh, God! I Have An Ill-divining Soul!

While Thou Livest Keep A Good Tongue In Thy Head.

To Kill, I Grant, Is Sin's Extremest Gust; But, In Defence, By Mercy, 'tis Most Just.

She Moves Me Not, Or Not Removes At Least Affection's Edge In Me.

By Heaven, My Soul Is Purg'd From Grudging Hate; And With My Hand I Seal My True Heart's Love

But She Makes Hungry Where She Most Satisfies.