Verses wrote extempore on a Gentleman's playing on the Flute.

I.

OH! cease thy too harmonious Strain,
 Nor thus my ravish'd Soul surprize:
 What new Ideas, pleasing Pains,
 Does by the sweet Inchantment rise? 

II.

Lull'd by the dear bewitching Sound,
 Each jarring Passion's charm'd to rest;
 Yet my Soul feels a pleasing Wound,
 And sweet Disorders fill my Breast. 

III.

Forbear to show thy heavenly Art,
 Nor aim a Conquest o'er my Mind;
 By Musick soften'd to the Dart,
 Love may an easy Entrance find.