Dead be my heart to all be­low,
To mor­tal joys and mor­tal cares,
To sen­su­al bliss that charms us so,
Be dark, my eyes, and deaf, my ears.

Here I re­nounce my car­nal taste
Of the fair fruit that sin­ners prize:
Their pa­ra­dise shall ne­ver waste
One thought of mine, but to des­pise.

All earth­ly joys are ov­er­weighed
With mount­ains of vex­atious care;
And where’s the sweet that is not laid
A bait to some de­struct­ive snare?

Be gone for ev­er, mor­tal things!
Thou migh­ty mole-hill, earth, fare­well!
Angels as­pire on lof­ty wings,
And leave the globe for ants to dwell.

Come, Heav’n, and fill my vast de­sires,
My soul pur­sues the so­ve­reign good;
She was all made of heav’n­ly fires,
Nor can she live on mean­er food.