Tell me no more tis love

Tell me no more tis love

Your passions move

In a phantasticke sphear,

And only there,

Thus you confine

What is divine,

When love hath power and can dispence

Sufficient to the soul and sence.

Tis Love the sence informs

And cold bloud warms,

Nor gives the soule a Throne

To us alone,

But bids them bend

Both to one end,

And then tis Love when thus design'd,

They make another of their kind.