ON THE DEATH OF ANOTHER LADY
That burning toil, in which I once was caught,
While twice ten years and one I counted o'er,
d**h has unloosed: like burden I ne'er bore;
That grief ne'er fatal proves I now am taught.
But Love, who to entangle me still sought,
Spread in the treacherous gra** his net once more,
So fed the fire with fuel as before,
That my escape I hardly could have wrought.
And, but that my first woes experience gave,
Snarèd long since and kindled I had been,
And all the more, as I'm become less green:
My freedom d**h again has come to save,
And break my bond; that flame now fades, and fails,
'Gainst which nor force nor intellect prevails.
Nott.