That, which Her slender Waist confin'd,

shall, now, My joyfull Temples bind:

no Monarch, but wou'd give his crown,

his arms might do, what This has done.

It was my heaven's extremest sphere;

the pale, which held that lovely Dear:

my joy, my grief, my hope, my love,

did, all, within this circle move.

A narrow compass; and yet, there,

dwelt all that's Good, and all that's Fair.

give me but What this Riband bound,

take all the Rest the Sun goes round.