So may'st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop Into thy mother's lap.
For other things mild Heav'n a time ordains, And disapproves that care, though wise in show, That with superfluous burden loads the day, And when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.
Sole reigning holds the tyranny of Heav'n.
It were a journey like the path to heaven, To help you find them.
Luck is the residue of design.
Implied Subjection, but requir'd with gentle sway, And by her yielded, by him best receiv'd,- Yielded with coy submission, modest pride, And sweet, reluctant, amorous delay.