3320Give some kind fuel to maintain my fires,
A frown of yours will all my vitals damp.
Oil o'er my writhled heart, or let me know
From what black heads these bitter cadents flow.'
'Your favours, sir, have such commanding power,
That 'tis unjust your wishes to deny,
Accursed with all black tempests be that hour
In which my heart gave credit to mine eye.
Else would I not have been so much averse
T' a mind so noble and a feature terse.