Madam,

Accept the softest sweetest Strains,
That ever breath'd a dying Lovers Pains;
That ever yet could unsuccessful prove,
When arm'd with all the Eloquence of Love;
And if you find some tender moving Part,
Soften your Soul, and steal upon your Heart;
(For sure the most obdurate Maid must blame,
The rigid Coyness of the Cruel Dame:)
Then lovely Laura , think, you faintly feel
The Symptoms of a Flame I dare not tell,
Think, then, you hear your suppliant Lover sigh,
But generously, more than see him dye;
And if you kindly listen to his Pain,
Successful Waller has not sung in vain.