I found it very convenient and happy to dis-ingage from Love, and I have wond’red a thousand times at the Follies that God has made me commit: And though I som’times thought on _Silvia_, I thought her less charming and fair than she was before her fall; and the Humour I now was in represented her no more meriting that Passion I once had for her, and I fancied she had lost all those Graces for which once I lov’d her: In fine, I was so wholly recovered of my disease of Love for _Silvia_, that I began to be uneasie for want of employing my Addresses; and a change from so violent a Passion to such a degree of coldness, became insupportable to one of my Youth and I natural Gayety; insomuch, that I was seized with a Dulness, or Languishment, and so great a fit of Melancholy, as I had never felt the like; and my Heart, that was so accustomed to Love, was so out of Humour, that it had no Object or Business for thought, that it lost all its Harmony and Wit; it having nothing to excite it to Life and Motion, passing from so vast a degree of tenderness to an unconcern equally extream. I thought it rude, ill-bred, and idle, to live so indifferent and insignificant a Life. And walking perpetually by myself, (or with those of my own Sex, that could not make my diversion,) I sung all day this following Song to a Hum-drum Tune, to myself; Not to sigh and to be tender, Not to talk and prattle Love, Is a Life no good can render, And insipidly does move: Unconcern do’s Life destroy, Which, without Love, can know no Joy. Life, without adoring Beauty, Will be useless all the day; Love’s a part of Human Duty, And ‘tis Pleasure to obey. In vain the Gods did Life bestow, Where kinder Love has nought to do. What is Life, but soft desires, And that Soul, that is not made To entertain what Love inspires, Oh thou dull immortal Shade? Thou’dst better part with Flesh and Blood, Than be, where Life’s not understood.