Like heat and Ayre comprest, their blind desires Mixe with their ends, as raging winds with fires.

If, as the Honey with the Bee, Affection dwells with poesy: If that Affection is comprest, And hoarded in a Father's breast, Whose very soul doth blessings shed Upon a grateful darling's head; While every look is treasur'd there, Till Thought itself becomes a prayer, And Hopes hang on him full and gay.

And thou, young hero of this mimic scene, In whose high breast A genius greater than thy life hath been Strangely comprest!