The Glorious Lamp Of Heaven, The Sun.

A Little Saint Best Fits A Little Shrine, A Little Prop Best Fits A Little Vine, As My Small Cruse Best Fits My Little Wine.

The May-pole Is Up, Now Give Me The Cup; I'll Drink To The Garlands Around It; But First Unto Those Whose Hands Did Compose The Glory Of Flowers That Crown'd It.

A Winning Wave, (deserving Note.) In The Tempestuous Petticote, A Careless Shoe-string, In Whose Tye I See A Wilde Civility,-- Doe More Bewitch Me Than When Art Is Too Precise In Every Part.

Love Is Maintain'd By Wealth: When All Is Spent, Adversity Then Breeds The Discontent.

My Soul I'll Pour Into Thee.