My godlike Friend — nay do not stare,
You think the phrase is odd like;
But, " God is love," the Saints declare,
Then surely thou art Godlike.

And is thy Ardour still the same?
And kindled still at Anna?
Others may boast a partial flame,
But thou art a Volcano. —

Even Wedlock asks not Love beyond
Death's tie-dissolving Portal;
But thou, omnipotently fond,
May'st promise Love Immortal. —

Prudence, the Bottle and the Stew
Are fam'd for Lovers' curing:
Thy Passion nothing can subdue,
Nor Wisdom, Wine, nor Whoring. —

Thy Wounds such healing powers defy;
Such Symptoms dire attend them;
That last, great Antihectic try,
Marriage, perhaps, may mend them. —

Sweet Anna has an air, a grace,
Divine magnetic touching!
She takes, she charms — but who can trace
The process of Bewitching?