To Amasia, on her Recovery from a fall

Unhurt, undaunted at the Impious ground,
You only struck, that you might higher bound.
The Am'rous Clay, that it might closer cleave,
Sunk down so deep, that it appear'd a Grave.
But long it could not the lov'd burthen bear,
Not you, but it's own hopes lay buried there.
The ruder stones, with tremblings, looser grew,
And felt a softness, when but touch'd by you.
Oh! had you lay'n, soon all the Winds would Jar,
And, making Love, they would have made a War.
But your recov'ry, from the danger, shows,
You fell like thunder, and like light'ning rose.
No Atlas here of your lov'd weight is proud,
This Heav'n can't fall, tho' it has lately bow'd.