From these the Pencil learnt those Draughts
Of Titan's Beams, and Cupid's Shafts.
Bless me, said I, since I must die,
My Heart a Sacrifice shall lie,
Burnt with the Lustre of her eye.
The Mock.
And I, being lately Eastward bound,
To take a merry Countrey Round,
There I beheld a Thing call'd Woman,
Save him that hath her, Match for no man!