Of Mrs Arden.[1]

Behold, and listen, while the fair Breaks in sweet sounds the willing air, And with her own breath fans the fire Which her bright eyes do first inspire. What reason can that love control, Which more than one way courts the soul?

So when a flash of lightning falls On our abodes, the danger calls For human aid, which hopes the flame To conquer, though from heaven it came; But if the winds with that conspire, Men strive not, but deplore the fire.

'Mrs. Arden': some suggest that this lady was probably either a maid of honour, or a gentlewoman of the bed-chamber to King Charles the First's Queen.