The poem
When I love, as some have told Love I shall, when I am old, O ye Graces! make me fit For the welcoming of it! Clean my rooms, as temples be, To entertain that deity; Give me words wherewith to woo, Suppling and successful too; Winning postures; and withal, Manners each way musical; Sweetness to allay my sour And unsmooth behaviour: For I know you have the skill Vines to prune, though not to kill; And of any wood ye see, You can make a Mercury.