Directs its flowing motion so,
That it wounds more than Cupid’s bow;
Gives coolness to the matchless dame,
To every other breast a flame.
Written in Miss F——’s Pew at I—— Church.
With awe, with pleasure and surprise,
I view the lightning of your eyes;
Lightning! that wounds me as it flies.
What prayer! what vow! to Heaven can go?
For all devotion you subdue;