Such a love as merits Heaven,
Heaven's divinest image claims.
LAURA'S ANSWER.
Soon be thy lyre to winds consign'd.
Or hurl'd beneath the raging deep;
For while such strains seduce my mind,
How shall my heart its purpose keep.
Thy artless lays, which artless seem,
With too much fondness I approve;
Oh write no more in such a theme,