O, Train Me Not, Sweet Mermaid, With

Love Is Begun By Time And Time Qualifies The Spark And Fire Of It.

Virtue Preserv'd From Fell Destruction's Blast, Led On By Heaven, And Crown'd With Joy At Last.

If Reasons Were As Plentiful As Blackberries, I Would Give No Man A Reason Upon Compulsion.

Thus Weary Of The World, Away She Hies, And Yokes Her Silver Doves; By Whose Swift Aid Their Mistress Mounted Through The Empty Skies In Her Light Chariot Quickly Is Convey'd; Holding Their Course To Paphos, Where Their Queen Means To Immure Herself And Not Be Seen.

Love Is Blind And Lovers Cannot See The Pretty Follies That Themselves Commit