The poem
By those soft tods of wool With which the air is full; By all those tinctures there, That paint the hemisphere; By dews and drizzling rain That swell the golden grain; By all those sweets that be I' the flowery nunnery; By silent nights, and the Three forms of Hecate; By all aspects that bless The sober sorceress, While juice she strains, and pith To make her philters with; By time that hastens on Things to perfection; And by yourself, the best Conjurement of the rest: O my Electra! be In love with none but me.