By immaterial defecated Love,
20Your soul its heavenly origin does approve,
And in least dangerous raptures soars above.
VIII.
How could I wish, dear friend! unsaid agen
(For once I rank'd myself with tuneful men)
Whatever dropp'd from my unhallow'd pen!
IX.
The trifling rage of youthful heat once past,
Who is not troubled for his wit misplac'd!