Chapter 122 No.122

But give me leave, whose Soul's inspir'd,

With sacred, but desparing Love.

To dye from all your noise retir'd,

And Buried lie within this silent Grove.

For whilst I Live, my Soul's a prey,

To insignificant desires,

Whilst thou fond God of Love and Play,

With all thy Darts, with all thy useless Fires,

With all thy wanton flat