Well, I am charm'd, and promise to redress What, without shrift, my follies do confess Against myself: wherefore let me entreat, When I fly out in that distemper'd heat Which frets me into fasts, thou wilt reprove That froward spleen in poetry and love: So though I lose my reason in such fits Thou'lt rhyme me back again into my wits. 20 [_To my Sister, &c._] Anne King, afterwards Mrs. Dutton and Lady Howe. Howell, the epistoler, admitted her (in rather execrable verse) to that Tenth Museship which has had so many fair incumbents. Izaak Walton left her a ring and called her 'a most generose and ingenious Lady'. The verses assigned to her, which may be found in Hannah's notes, are not of the worst Tenth Muse quality.] [Line: 2 It has been observed, once or twice, that a placid and philosophical temper does not seem to have been one of the Bishop's gifts, and he here acknowledges the fact.] [Line: 8 'Owe', as so often noted, = 'own'.] [Line: 17 And seems to have done due penance for it.] _An Elegy upon the immature loss of the most vertuous Lady Anne Rich._ [Died August 24, 1638.] I envy not thy mortal triumphs, Death (Thou enemy to Virtue, as to breath), Nor do I wonder much, nor yet complain The weekly numbers by thy arrow slain. The whole world is thy factory, and we, Like traffic, driven and retail'd by Thee: And where the springs of life fill up so fast, Some of the waters needs must run to waste.