The Lock, obtain'd with Guilt, and kept with Pain,
In ev'ry place is ſought, but ſought in vain:
With ſuch a Prize no Mortal muſt be bleſt,
So Heav'n decrees! with Heav'n who can conteſt?
Some thought it mounted to the Lunar Sphere,
 Since all things loſt on Earth, are treasur'd there.
There Heroe's Wits are kept in pondrous Vaſes,
And Beau's in Snuff-boxes and Tweezer-Caſes.
There broken Vows, and Death-bed Alms are found,
And Lovers Hearts with Ends of Riband bound;
The Courtiers Promiſes, and Sick Man's Pray'rs,
The Smiles of Harlots, and the Tears of Heirs,
Cages for Gnats, and Chains to Yoak a Flea;
Dry'd Butterflies, and Tomes of Caſuiſtry.
But trust the Muſe——she saw it upward riſe,
Tho' mark'd by none but quick Poetic Eyes:
(So Rome's great Founder to the Heav'ns withdrew,
To Proculus alone confeſs'd in view.)
- Vid. Arioſto. Canto 34.