Whilst from our Looks, fair Nymph you guess
The secret Passions of our Mind,
My heavy Eyes you say confess
A Heart to Love and Grief inclin’d.

There needs alas but little Art,
To have this fatal Secret known;
With the same Ease you threw the Dart
‘Tis certain you may shew the Wound.

How can I see you and not love,
While you as op’ning East are fair,
While cold as northern Blasts you prove
How can I love and not despair.

The wretch in double fetters bound
Your potent Mercy may release,
Soon if my Love but once were crown’d
Fair Isabel my Grief would cease.