To Alexander Cunningham

Available for over a year

My godlike Friend - nay do not stare, You think the phrase is odd like; But 'God is love', the Saints declare, Then surely thou art Godlike. And is thy Ardour still the same? And kindled still at Anna? Others may boast a partial flame, But thou art a Volcano. Even Wedlock asks not Love beyond Death's tie-dissolving Portal; But thou, omnipotently fond, May'st promise Love Immortal. Prudence, the Bottle and the Stew Are fam'd for Lovers curing: Thy Passion nothing can subdue, Nor Wisdom, Wine nor Whoring. Thy Wounds such healing powers defy; Such Symptoms dire attend them, That last great Antihectic try, Marriage, perhaps, may mend them. Sweet Anna has an air, a grace, Divine magnetic touching! She takes, she charms - but who can trace The process of bewitching?