VAIN Love, why do'st thou boast of wings, that can't help thee to retire! When such quick flames suspicion brings, as do the heart about thee fire. Thou shou'd'st be more-Alas! how slow. Still swift to come, but when to go

Lord of the World must surely be

But thy bare title at the most; Since Jealousy is Lord of Thee, and makes such havock on thy coast, as do's thy pleasant land deface, yet binds thee faster to the place.