TRUE Son of  Heir t' his Tuneful Quill,
His murthering Arrows, and his healing Skill:
Thy Bills his Med'cines are, his Lyre thy Song,
Thine Heart his Quiver, and his Bow thy Tongue:
But here's no : Sooth thine Arms a while,
And charm thy stately Rigor to a Smile,
For  no more; we love
well
Nor do we thus
may be
With  Art, nor
A Lyrick Ode submits ;
no more offend
Nor  nor  nor Sacred
flows in tuneful
And  feels the Pleasure, nor complains
Of Impositions, Prisons, Bonds, and Chains,
Whilst pure Devotion sings and  th' Indul Reigns.