There must be some proportion still to pity Between ourselves and what we moan: ’tis hard For Men to be ought sensible, how Moats Press Flies to death. Should the Lion, in His midnight walks for prey, hear some poor worms Complain for want of little drops of dew, What pity could that generous creature have (Who never wanted small things) for those poor Ambitions? yet these are their concernments, And but for want of these they pine and die. * * * * * _Modesty a bar to preferment._ Sure ’twas his modesty. He might have thriven Much better possibly, had his ambition Been greater much. They oftimes take more pains Who look for Pins, than those who find out Stars. * * * * * _Innocence vindicated at last._ Heav’n may awhile correct the virtuous; Yet it will wipe their eyes again, and make Their faces whiter with their tears. Innocence Conceal’d is the Stoln Pleasure of the Gods, Which never ends in shame, as that of Men Doth oftimes do; but like the Sun breaks forth, When it hath gratified another world; And to our unexpecting eyes appears More glorious thro’ its late obscurity. * * * * * _Dying for a Beloved Person._ There is a gust in Death, when ’tis for Love, That’s more than all that’s taste in all the world. For the true measure of true Love is Death; And what falls short of this, was never Love: And therefore when those tides do meet and strive And both swell high, but Love is higher still, This is the truest satisfaction of The perfectest Love: for here it sees itself Indure the highest test; and then it feels The sum of delectation, since it now Attains its perfect end; and shows its object, By one intense act, all its verity: Which by a thousand and ten thousand words It would have took a poor dilated pleasure To have imperfectly express’d. _Urania makes a mock assignation with the King, and substitutes the Queen in her place. The King describes the supposed meeting to the Confident, whom he had employed to solicit for his guilty passion._