These plaintive verses, the Posts of my desire, br Which haste for succour to her slow regard: br Bear not report of any slender fire, br Forging a grief to win a fame's reward. br Nor are my passions limn'd for outward hue, br For that no colors can depaint my sorrows; br Delia herself and all the world may view br Best in my face, how cares hath till'd deep forrows. br No Bays I seek to deck my mourning brow, br O clear-eyed Rector of the holy Hill; br My humble accents crave the Olive bough, br Of her mild pity and relenting will. br These lines I use t'unburden mine own heart; br My love affects no fame nor 'steems of art.