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

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

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.

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.