Abstract

What angels wou'd these be, who thus excel In Theologicks, could they sew as well! Yet why shou'd not the fair her text pursue? Can she more decently the Doctor wooe? Isaac, a brother of the canting strain, When he has knockt at his own scull in vain, To beauteous Marcia often will repair With a dark text, to light it at the fair. O how his pious soul exults to find Such love for holy men in womankind! Charm'd with her learning, with what rapture, hee Hangs on her bloom, like an industrious bee; Hums round about her, and with all his pow'r Extracts sweet wisdom from so fair a Flow'r.2

Full Text
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