The Discovery.

BY 'Heaven I'll tell her boldly that 'tis Shee;
Why should she asham'd or angry bee,
To be belov'd by Mee?
The Gods may give their Altars o're;
They'l smoak but seldom any more,
If none but Happy Men must them adore.

The Lightning which tall Oaks oppose in vain,
To strike sometime does not disdain
The humbly Furzes of the Plain.
She being so high, and I so low,
Her power by this does greater show,
Who at such distance gives so sure a blow.

Compar'd with her all things so worthless prove,
That nought on earth can tow'ards her move,
Till't be exalted by her Love.
Aequal to her, alas, there's none;
She like a Deity is growne;
That must Create, or else must be alone.

If there be man, who thinks himself so high,
As to pretend aequality,
He deserves her less, then I;
For he would cheat for his relief;
And one would give with lesser grief,
To' an undeserving Beggar, then a Thief.