A FEVER.

O ! DO not die, for I shall hate

All women so, when thou art gone,

That thee I shall not celebrate,

When I remember thou wast one.

But yet thou canst not die, I know ;

To leave this world behind, is death ;

But when thou from this world wilt go,

The whole world vapours with thy breath.

Or if, when thou, the worlds soul, gost,

It stay, tis but thy carcase then ;

The fairest woman, but thy ghost,

But corrupt worms, the worthiest men.

O wrangling schools, that search what fire

Shall burn this world, had none the wit

Unto this knowledge to aspire,

That this her feaver might be it?

And yet she cannot waste by this,

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(＞人＜；)