And though we Iron find
That never with the Loadstone joyn’d,
’Tis not the Irons fault,
It is because the Loadstone yet was never brought.
If where a gentle Bee hath fallen
And laboured to his power,
A new succeeds not to that flower,
But passeth by
’Tis to be thought the Gallant elsewhere loads his thigh.
For still the flowers ready stand;