The poems of John Wilmot: Earl of Rochester :: :: University of Virginia Library

Alex.
There sighs not on the Plain
So lost a Swain as I;
Scorcht't up with Love, frozen with Disdain.
Of killing Sweetness I complain.

Streph.
If 'tis Corinna, die.

II

Since first my dazled Eyes were thrown
On that bewitching Face,
Like ruin'd Birds, rob'd of their Young,
Lamenting, frighted, and alone,
I fly from place to place.

III

Fram'd by some Cruel Powers above,
So nice she is, and fair;
None from undoing can remove,
Since all, who are not Blind, must Love;
Who are not vain, Despair.

Alex.
The Gods no sooner give a Grace,
But fond of their own Art,
Severely jealous, ever place
To guard the Glories of a Face,
A Dragon in the Heart.

V

Proud and ill-natur'd Powers they are,
Who peevish to Mankind,
For their own Honour's sake, with Care,
Make a sweet Form divinely Fair,
And add a Cruel Mind.

Streph.
Since she's insensible of Love,
By Honour taught to hate,
If we, forc'd by Decrees above,
Must sensible to Beauty prove,
How Tyrannous is Fate?

Alex.

I to the Nymph have never nam'd
The Cause of all my pain.

Streph.

Such Bashfulness may well be blam'd;
For since to serve we're not asham'd,
Why should she blush to Reign?

Alex.

But if her haughty Heart despise
My humble proffer'd One,
The just Compassion she denies,
I may obtain from other's Eyes;
Hers are not Fair alone.

IX

Devouring Flames require new Food;
My Heart's consum'd almost:
New Fires must kindle in her Blood,
Or Mine go out, and that's as good.

Streph.
Would'st live, when Love is lost?

X

Be dead before thy Passion dies;
For if thou should'st survive,
What Anguish would the Heart surprize,
To see her Flames begin to rise,
And Thine no more Alive.

Alex.
Rather what Pleasure shou'd I meet
In my Tryumphant scorn,
To see my Tyrant at my Feet;
Whil'st taught by her, unmov'd I sit
A Tyrant in my Turn.

Streph.
Ungentle Shepherd, cease for shame;
Which way can you pretend
To merit so Divine a Flame,
Who to dull Life make a mean Claim,
When Love is at an End?

XIII

As Trees are by their Bark embrac'd,
Love to my Soul doth cling;
When torn by th'Herd's greedy Taste,
The injur'd Plants feel they're defac't,
They wither in the Spring.

XIV

My rifled Love would soon retire,
Dissolving into Aire,
Shou'd I that Nymph cease to admire,
Blest in whose Arms I will expire,
Or at her Feet despair.

A DIALOGUE BETWEEN Strephon and Daphne.

Strephon.
Prithee now, fond Fool, give o're;
Since my heart is gone before,
To what purpose shou'd I stay?
Love Commands another way.

Daphne.
Perjur'd Swain, I knew the time
When Dissembling was your Crime.
In pity now employ that Art
Which first betray'd, to ease my heart.

Strephon.
Women can with pleasure feign:
Men dissemble still with pain.
What advantage will it prove
If I lye, who cannot love?

Daphne.
Tell me then the Reason why,
Love from Hearts in love does flye?
Why the Bird will build a Nest,
Where he ne're intends to rest?

Strephon.
Love, like other little Boys,
Cries for Hearts, as they for Toys:
Which, when gain'd, in Childish Play,
Wantonly are thrown away.

Daphne.
Still on Wing, or on his Knees,
Love does nothing by degrees:
Basely flying when most priz'd,
Meanly fawning when despis'd.
Flattering or insulting ever,
Generous and grateful never:
All his Joys are fleeting Dreams,
All his Woes severe Extreams.

Strephon.
Nimph, unjustly you inveigh;
Love, like us, must Fate obey.
Since 'tis Nature's Law to Change,
Constancy alone is strange.
See the Heav'ns in Lightnings break,
Next in Storms of Thunder speak;
Till a kind Rain from above
Makes a Calm—so 'tis in love.
Flames begin our first Address,
Like meeting Thunder we embrace:
Then you know the Show'rs that fall
Quench the fire, and quiet all.

Daphne.
How shou'd I these Show'rs forget,
'Twas so pleasant to be wet;
They kill'd Love, I knew it well,
I dy'd all the while they fell.

Say at least what Nimph it is
Robs my Breast of so much Bliss?
If she is fair I shall be eas'd,
Thro' my Ruine you'll be pleas'd.

Strephon.
Daphne never was so fair:
Strephon, scarcely, so sincere.
Gentle, Innocent, and Free,
Ever pleas'd with only me.
Many Charms my Heart enthral,
But there's one above 'em all:
With aversion she does flye
Tedious, trading, Constancy.

Daphne.
Cruel Shepherd! I submit;
Do what Love and you think fit:
Change is Fate, and not Design,
Say you wou'd have still been mine.

Strephon.
Nymph, I cannot: 'tis too true,
Change has greater Charms than you.
Be, by my Example, wise,
Faith to Pleasure sacrifice.

Daphne.
Silly Swain, I'll have you know,
'Twas my practice long ago:
Whilst you Vainly thought me true,
I was false in scorn of you.
By my Tears, my Heart's disguise,
I thy Love and thee despise.
Woman-kind more Joy discovers
Making Fools, than keeping Lovers.

The Discovery.

Celia, the faithful servant you disown,
Wou'd in obedience keep his Love unknown;
But bright Idea's such as you inspire,
We can no more conceal, than not admire;
My heart at home, in my own brest did dwell,
Like humble Hermit in a peaceful Cell,
Unknown, and undisturb'd, it rested there,
Stranger alike to Hope, and to Despair:
But Loves Tumultuous Train does now invade
The Sacred quiet of this Hallow'd Shade;
His fatal flames shine out to every eye,
Like blazing Comets in a Winters Sky.
Fair and severe like Heaven you injoyn,
Commands that seems cross to your own design;
Forbidding what your selves incline us to:
Since if from Heavenly Powers you will allow,
That all our faculty proceed; 'tis plain,
What 'ere we will, is what the Gods ordain;
But they and you, Rights without Limit have,
Over your Creatures, and (more yours) your slave:
And I am one, born only to admire,
Too humble 'ere to hope, scarce to desire,
A thing whose bliss depends upon your will;
Who wou'd be proud, you'd deign to use him ill.
How can my passion merit your offence,
That challenges so little recompence?
Let me but ever love, and ever be
The example of your power and cruelty;
Since so much scorn does in your brest reside,
Be more indulgent to its Mother, Pride;
Kill all you strike, and trample on their Graves,
But own the Fates of your neglected Slaves:
When in the crowd yours undistinguish'd lyes,
You give away the Tryumph of your Eyes:
Permit me then to glory in my Chains,

My fruitless Sighs, and my unpitied Pains:
Perhaps obtaining this, you'l think I find
More Mercy than your Anger has design'd;
But Love has carefully contriv'd for me,
The last perfection of Misery:
For to my State those hopes of Common peace,
Which Death affords to every Wretch, must cease;
My worst of Fates attends me in my Grave,
Since, dying, I must be no more your Slave.

The Advice.

All things submit themselves to your command,
Fair Celia, when it does not Love withstand;
The power it borrows from your eyes alone,
All but the God must yield to who has none;
Were he not blind, such are the Charmes you have,
He'd quit his Godhead to become your Slave.
Be proud to act a Mortal Heroes part,
And throw himself for Fame on his own Dart;
But Fate hath otherwise dispos'd of things,
In different Bonds subjecting Slaves, and Kings.
Fetter'd in Forms of Royal State are they,
While we enjoy the Freedom to Obey.
That Fate (like you resistless) does ordain
That Love alone should over Beauty Reign.
By Harmony the Universe does move;
And what is Harmony, but mutual Love?
See gentle Brooks, how quietly they glide,
Kissing the rugged Banks on either side,
Whil'st in their Christal Stream at once they show,
And with them feed the Flowers which they bestow;
Though prest upon by their too rude embrace,
In gentle murmurs they keep on their pace
To their Lov'd Sea; for even streams have desires,
Cool as they are, they feel Love's pow'rful fires:

And with such passion, that if any force
Stop or molest 'um in their Am'rous course,
They swell with rage, break down, and ravage ore
The Banks they kiss'd, the flowers they fed before.
Who would resist an Empire so Divine,
Which Universal Nature does enjoyn?
Submit then Celia e're you be reduc'd,
For Rebels vanquisht once, are vilely us'd.
And such are you, when e're you dare obey
Another passion, and your Love betray.
You are Loves Citadels, by you he reigns,
And his proud Empire o're the World maintains;
He trusts you with his Stratagems and Arms,
His frowns, his smiles, and all his conquering charms.
Beauty's no more but the dead Soyl which Love
Mannures, and does by wise Commerce improve;
Sayling by Sighes through Seas of tears, he sends,
Courtship from Forraign hearts: For your own ends
Cherish the Trade; for as with Indians we
Get Gold and Jewels for our Trumpery,
So to each other for their useless Toyes,
Lovers afford whole Magazins of Joyes:
But if youe're fond of Bawbles, be, and starve,
Your Gugaw Reputation preserve;
Live upon Modesty and empty Fame,
Forgoing Sense, for a Fantastick Name.

[[Could I but make my wishes insolent ]]

Could I but make my wishes

insolent

And force some image of a false content?
But they like mee bashfull and humble growne
Hover att distance about Beautyes throne
There worship and admire and then they dye
Daring noe more Lay Hold of her than I.

Reason to worth beares a submissive spirritt
But Fooles can bee familliar with merritt.
Who but that Blundring blockhead Phaeton
Could e're have thought to drive about the Sun.
Just such another durst make Love to you
Whom not ambition led but dullness drew,
Noe Am'rous thought would his dull heart incline
But he would have a passion, for 'twas fine
That, a new suite, and what hee next must say,
Runs in his Idle head the live Long day.
Hard hearted saint, since 'tis your will to Bee
Soe unrelenting pittiless to mee
Regardless of A Love soe many yeares
Preserv'd twix't Lingring hopes and awfull feares
Such feares in Lovers Breasts high vallue claimes
And such expiring martyrs feele in flames.
My hopes your selfe contriv'd with cruell care
Through gentle smiles to leade mee to despaire,
Tis some releife in my extreame distress
My rivall is Below your power to Bless.

The submission.

To this moment a Rebell I throw down my Arms
Great Love at first sight of Olindas bright Charms
Made prowd and secure by such forces as these
You may now be a Tyrant as soon as you please.

When Innocence, Beauty, and witt doe Conspire,
To betray, and engage, and enflame my Desire,
Why should I decline what I cannott avoyd
And let pleaseing hope by base fear be destroy'd.

Her Innocence cannott contrive to undoe me,
Her beauties enclin'd, or why should it pursue me,
And witt has to pleasure been ever a Freind,
Then what Roome for dispair since delight is Loves end.

There can be no danger in sweetness and youth
Where Love is secur'd by Good nature and Truth
On her beauty I'le gaze, and of pleasure Complain,
While every kind look adds a link to my Chain.

'Tis more to maintaine, then it was to surprise,
But her witt leads in Triumph the slave of her eies—
I beheld with the losse of my freedome before
But heareing for ever must serve and adore.

Too bright is my Goddess; her Temple too weak
Retire Divine Image I feel my heart break
Help Love I dissolve in a Rapture of Charms
At the thought of those Joyes I should meet in her Arms.

Grecian KINDNESS.

A SONG.

I

The outmost Grace the Greeks could shew,
When to the Trojans they grew kind,
Was with their Arms to let 'em go,
And leave their lingring Wives behind.
They beat the Men, and burnt the Town,
Then all the Baggage was their own.

2

There the kind Deity of Wine
Kiss'd the soft wanton God of Love;
This clapt his Wings, that press'd his Vine,
And their best Pow'rs united move.
While each brave Greek embrac'd his Punk,
Lull'd her asleep, and then grew drunk.

To Corinna.

A SONG.

1

What Cruel pains Corinna takes,
To force that harmless frown:
When not one Charm her Face forsakes,
Love cannot lose his own.

2

So sweet a Face, so soft a Heart,
Such Eyes so very kind,
Betray, alas! the silly Art
Virtue had ill design'd.

3

Poor feeble Tyrant! who in vain
Would proudly take upon her,
Against kind Nature to maintain
Affected Rules of Honour.

4

The Scorn she bears so helpless proves,
When I plead Passion to her,
That much she fears, (but more she loves,)
Her Vassal should undo her.

Song.

[Give me leave to raile at you]

Give me leave to raile at you,
I aske nothing but my due;
To call you false, and then to say,
You shall not keepe my Heart a Day.
But (Alas!) against my will,
I must be your Captive still.

Ah! be kinder then, for I,
Cannot change, and wou'd not dye.

Kindnesse has resistlesse Charmes,
All besides but weakly move,
Fiercest Anger it disarmes,
And Clips the Wings of flying Love.
Beauty does the Heart invade,
Kindnesse only can perswade;
It guilds the Lovers Servile Chaine
And makes the Slave grow pleas'd and vaine.

The Answer.

[_]

[by Lady Rochester]

Nothing adds to your fond fire,
More than Scorne, and cold disdaine,
I to cherish your desire,
Kindnesse us'd, but 'twas in vaine.
You insulted on your Slave,
Humble Love you soone refus'd
Hope not then a Pow'r to have
Which Ingloriously you us'd.

Thinke not Thirsis I will e're
By my Love, my Empire loose,
You grow Constant through despair,
Love return'd, you wou'd abuse.
Tho' you still possesse my heart,
Scorne, and Rigour, I must feigne,
Ah! forgive that only Art,
Love, has left your Love to gaine.

You that cou'd my Heart subdue;
To new Conquests, ne're pretend,
Let your Example make me true
And of a Conquer'd Foe, a Friend.

Then if e're I shou'd complaine,
Of your Empire, or my Chain,
Summon all your Pow'rfull Charmes,
And fell the Rebell in your Armes.

Song

[Att Last you'l force mee to confess]

Att Last you'l force mee to confess
You need noe arts to vanquish
Such charmes from Nature you posses
'Twere dullness, nott to Languish;
Yett spare A heart you may surprize
And give my Tongue the glory
To scorne, while my unfaithfull eyes
Betray a kinder story.

[[Another version] ]

[Too late, alas! I must confess]

Too late, alas! I must confess
You need no Arts to move me:
Such Charms by Nature you posses,
'Twere madness not to love you.

Then spare a Heart you may surprise,
And give my Tongue the Glory
To boast, tho' my unfaithful Eyes
Betray a kinder Story.

Womans Honor.

Love, bad me hope, and I obey'd,
Phillis continu'd still unkind,
Then you may e'ne despair he said,
In vain I strive to change her Mind.

Honor's got in, and keeps her Heart;
Durst he but venture once abroad,
In my own right I'd take your part,
And shew my self the mightier God.

This huffing Honour domineers,
In Breasts alone, where he has place;
But if true gen'rous Love appears,
The Hector dares not shew his Face.

Let me still languish and complain,
Be most unhumanly deny'd,
I have some pleasure in my pain,
She can have none with all her Pride.

I fall a Sacrifice to Love,
She lives a Wretch for Honours sake,
Whose Tyrant does most cruel prove,
The diff'rence is not hard to make.

Consider reall Honour then,
You'll find hers cannot be the same,
'Tis Noble confidence in Men,
In Women, mean mistrustful shame.

The Platonick Lady

I could Love thee 'till I dye,
Wouldst Thou Love mee Modestly;
And ne're presse, whilst I love,
For more than willingly I would give;
Which should sufficient be to prove
I'de understand the Arte of Love.

I hate the Thing is call'd Injoyment,
Besydes it is a dull imployment,

It cutts off all that's Life and fier,
From that which may be term'd Desire.
Just (like the Be) whose sting is gon,
Converts the owner to a Droane.

I love a youth, will give mee leave
His Body in my arms to wreath;
To presse him Gently and to kisse,
To sigh and looke with Eyes that wish.
For what if I could once Obtaine,
I would neglect with flatt disdaine.

I'de give him Liberty to toye,
And play with mee and count it Joye.
Our freedom should be full compleate,
And nothing wanting but the feate:
Let's practice then, and we shall prove,
These are the only sweets of Love—

Verses put into a Lady's Prayer-book.

Fling this useless Book away,
And presume no more to Pray;
Heav'n is just, and can bestow
Mercy on none but those that Mercy show.
With a proud Heart maliciously inclin'd
Not to encrease, but to subdue Mankind.
In vain you vex the Gods with your Petition;
Without Repentance and sincere Contrition,
You're in a Reprobate Condition.
Phillis, to calm the angry Powers,
And save my Soul as well as yours,
Relieve poor Mortals from Despair,
And justifie the Gods that made you fair;
And in those bright and charming Eyes
Let Pity first appear, then Love;
That we by easie steps may rise
Through all the Joys on Earth, to those Above.

Song.

[Love a Woman! y'are an Ass]

Love a Woman! y'are an Ass,
'Tis a most insipid Passion,
To choose out for your happiness
The idlest part of Gods Creation!

Let the Porter, and the Groome,
Things design'd for dirty Slaves,
Drudge in fair Aurelias Womb,
To get supplies for Age, and Graves.

Farewel Woman, I intend,
Henceforth, ev'ry Night to sit,
With my lewd well natur'd Friend,
Drinking, to engender Wit.

Then give me Health, Wealth, Mirth, and Wine,
And if busie Love, intrenches,
There's a sweet soft Page, of mine,
Does the trick worth Forty Wenches.

[[Leave this gawdy guilded Stage]]

Leave this gawdy guilded Stage
From custome more than use frequented
Where fooles of either sex and age
Crowd to see themselves presented.
To loves Theatre the Bed
Youth and beauty fly together
And Act soe well it may be said
The Lawrell there was due to either.
Twixt strifes of Love and war the difference Lies in this
When neither overcomes Loves triumph greater is.

Sab: Lost

Shee yeilds, she yeilds, Pale Envy said Amen
The first of woemen to the Last of men.
Just soe those frailer beings Angells fell
Ther's noe mid way (it seemes) twix't heav'n and hell,
Was it your end in making her, to show
Things must bee rais'd soe high to fall soe low?
Since her nor Angells their owne worth secures
Looke to it gods! the next turne must bee yours
You who in careles scorne Laught att the wayes
Of Humble Love and call'd 'em rude Essayes
Could you submitt to Lett this Heavy thing
Artless and wittless, noe way merriting

The Fall.

How blest was the Created State
Of Man and Woman, e're they fell,
Compar'd to our unhappy ffate!
We need not fear another Hell:

Naked beneath cool Shades they lay,
Enjoyment waited on desire;
Each member did their wills obey:
Nor could a wish set pleasure higher.

But we, poor Slaves to hope and fear,
Are never of our Joys secure:
They lessen still, as they draw near;
And none but dull delights endure.

Then, Cloris, while I duty pay,
The nobler Tribute of a heart;
Be not you so severe, to say
You Love me for a frailer part.

[[T'was a dispute]]

T'was a dispute 'twixt heav'n and Earth
Which had produc't the Nobler birth:
For Heav'n, Appear'd Cynthya with all her Trayne
Till you came forth
More glorious and more Worth,
Than shee with all those trembling imps of Light
With which This Envious Queene of night
Had Proudly deck't her Conquer'd selfe in Vaine.

I must have perrish't in that first surprize
Had I beheld your Eyes;
Love Like Appollo when he would inspire
Some holy brest, laide all his gloryes by.
Els The God cloath'd in his heavnly fire
Would have possest too powerfully
And making of his Preist A sacrifize
Had soe return'd unhallow'd to the Skyes.

A SONG.

[Insulting Beauty, you mispend]

Insulting Beauty, you mispend
Those Frowns upon your Slave;
Your Scorn against such Rebels bend,
Who dare with confidence pretend,
That other Eyes their Hearts defend,
From all the Charms you have.

Your conquering Eyes so partial are,
Or Mankind is so dull,
That while I languish in Despair,
Many proud senseless Hearts declare,
They find you not so killing Fair,
To wish you merciful.

They an Inglorious Freedom boast;
I triumph in my Chain;
Nor am I unreveng'd, though lost;
Nor you unpunish'd, though unjust,
When I alone, who love you most,
Am kill'd with your Disdain.

A SONG.

[Injurious Charmer of my vanquisht Heart]

Nymph.
Injurious Charmer of my vanquisht Heart,
Canst thou feel Love, and yet no pity know?
Since of my self from thee I cannot part,
Invent some gentle Way to let me go.
For what with Joy thou didst obtain,
And I with more did give;
In time will make thee false and vain,
And me unfit to live.

Shepherd.
Frail Angel, that wou'dst leave a Heart forlorn,
With vain pretence falshood therein might lye;
Seek not to cast wild shadows o're your scorn,
You cannot sooner change than I can dye.
To tedious life I'le never fall,
Thrown from thy dear lov'd Breast;
He merits not to live at all,
Who cares to live unblest.

Chor.
Then let our flaming Hearts be joyn'd,
While in that sacred fire;
Ere thou prove false, or I unkind,
Together both expire.

The MISTRESS.

A SONG.

1

An Age in her Embraces past,
Would seem a Winters day;
Where Life and Light, with envious hast,
Are torn and snatch'd away.

2

But, oh how slowly Minutes rowl,
When absent from her Eyes
That feed my Love, which is my Soul,
It languishes and dyes.

3

For then no more a Soul but shade,
It mournfully does move;
And haunts my Breast, by absence made
The living Tomb of Love.

4

You Wiser men despise me not;
Whose Love-sick Fancy raves,
On Shades of Souls, and Heaven knows what;
Short Ages live in Graves.

5

When e're those wounding Eyes, so full
Of Sweetness, you did see;
Had you not been profoundly dull,
You had gone mad like me.

6

Nor Censure us You who perceive
My best belov'd and me,
Sigh and lament, Complain and grieve,
You think we disagree.

7

Alas! 'tis Sacred Jealousie,
Love rais'd to an Extream;
The only Proof 'twixt her and me,
We love, and do not dream.

8

Fantastick Fancies fondly move;
And in frail Joys believe:
Taking false Pleasure for true Love;
But Pain can ne're deceive.

9

Kind Jealous Doubts, tormenting Fears,
And Anxious Cares, when past;
Prove our Hearts Treasure fixt and dear,
And make us blest at last.

The Imperfect Enjoyment.

Naked she lay, claspt in my longing Arms,
I fill'd with Love, and she all over charms,
Both equally inspir'd with eager fire,
Melting through kindness, flaming in desire;
With Arms, Legs, Lips, close clinging to embrace,
She clips me to her Breast, and sucks me to her Face.
The nimble Tongue (Love's lesser Lightning) plaid
Within my Mouth, and to my thoughts conveyd
Swift Orders, that I shou'd prepare to throw,
The All-dissolving Thunderbolt below.

My flutt'ring Soul, sprung with the pointed kiss,
Hangs hov'ring o're her Balmy Brinks of Bliss.
But whilst her busie hand, wou'd guide that part,
Which shou'd convey my Soul up to her Heart,
In liquid Raptures, I dissolve all o're,
Melt into Sperme, and spend at ev'ry Pore:
A touch from any part of her had don't,
Her Hand, her Foot, her very look's a Cunt.
Smiling, she chides in a kind murm'ring Noise,
And from her Body wipes the clammy joys;
When with a Thousand Kisses, wand'ring o're
My panting Bosome,—is there then no more?
She cries. All this to Love, and Rapture's due,
Must we not pay a debt to pleasure too?
But I the most forlorn, lost Man alive,
To shew my wisht Obedience vainly strive,
I sigh alas! and Kiss, but cannot Swive.
Eager desires, confound my first intent,
Succeeding shame, does more success prevent,
And Rage, at last, confirms me impotent.
Ev'n her fair Hand, which might bid heat return
To frozen Age, and make cold Hermits burn,
Apply'd to my dead Cinder, warms no more,
Than Fire to Ashes, cou'd past Flames restore.
Trembling, confus'd, despairing, limber, dry,
A wishing, weak, unmoving lump I ly.
This Dart of love, whose piercing point oft try'd,
With Virgin blood, Ten thousand Maids has dy'd;
Which Nature still directed with such Art,
That it through ev'ry Cunt, reacht ev'ry Heart.
Stiffly resolv'd, twou'd carelesly invade,
Woman or Man, nor ought its fury staid,
Where e're it pierc'd, a Cunt it found or made.
Now languid lies, in this unhappy hour,
Shrunk up, and Sapless, like a wither'd Flow'r.
Thou treacherous, base, deserter of my flame,
False to my passion, fatal to my Fame;
Through what mistaken Magick dost thou prove,
So true to lewdness, so untrue to Love?

What Oyster, Cinder, Beggar, common Whore,
Didst thou e're fail in all thy Life before?
When Vice, Disease and Scandal lead the way,
With what officious hast dost thou obey?
Like a Rude roaring Hector, in the Streets,
That Scuffles, Cuffs, and Ruffles all he meets;
But if his King, or Country, claim his Aid,
The Rakehell Villain, shrinks, and hides his head:
Ev'n so thy Brutal Valor, is displaid,
Breaks ev'ry Stew, does each small Whore invade,
But when great Love, the onset does command,
Base Recreant, to thy Prince, thou darst not stand.
Worst part of me, and henceforth hated most,
Through all the Town, a common Fucking Post;
On whom each Whore, relieves her tingling Cunt,
As Hogs, on Gates, do rub themselves and grunt.
May'st thou to rav'nous Shankers, be a Prey,
Or in consuming Weepings waste away.
May Strangury, and Stone, thy Days attend,
May'st thou ne're Piss, who didst refuse to spend,
When all my joys, did on false thee depend.
And may Ten thousand abler Pricks agree,
To do the wrong'd Corinna, right for thee.

A SONG of a young LADY. To her Ancient Lover.

1.

Ancient Person, for whom I,
All the flattering Youth defy;
Long be it e're thou grow Old,
Aking, shaking, Crazy Cold.
But still continue as thou art,
Antient Person of my Heart.

2.

On thy withered Lips and dry,
Which like barren Furrows lye;
Brooding Kisses I will pour,
Shall thy youthful Heat restore.
Such kind Show'rs in Autumn fall,
And a second Spring recall:
Nor from thee will ever part,
Antient Person of my Heart.

3.

Thy Nobler part, which but to name
In our Sex wou'd be counted shame,
By Ages frozen grasp possest,
From his Ice shall be releast:
And, sooth'd by my reviving hand,
In former Warmth and Vigor stand.
All a Lover's wish can reach,
For thy Joy my Love shall teach:
And for thy Pleasure shall improve,
All that Art can add to Love.
Yet still I love thee without Art,
Antient Person of my Heart.

Song

[Fair Cloris in a Piggsty lay]

Fair Cloris in a Piggsty lay
Her tender herd lay by her
She slept; in murmring Gruntlings they
Complayneing of the scorching Day
Her slumbers thus inspire.

She dream't while she with carefull pains
Her snowy Arms employ'd
In Ivory pailes to fill out graines
One of her Love Convicted Swaines
Thus hasting to her cry'd.

Fly Nymph oh! fly e're 'tis too late
A Dear lov'd Life to save
Rescue your bosom Pigg from fate
Who now expires hung in the Gate
That leads to Floras Cave.

My selfe had try'd to sett him free
Rather then brought the newes
But I am so abhorr'd by Thee
That even thy darlings Life from Mee
I know thou wouldst refuse.

Struck with the newes as quick she flies
As blushes to her face
Not the bright Lightning from the Skies
Nor Love shott from her brighter eies
Move halfe so swift a pace.

This Plott it seems the Lustfull Slave
Had layd against her Honor
Which not one God took care to save
For he pursues her to the Cave
And throwes him selfe upon her.

Now peirced is her virgin Zoan
She feels the Foe within it
She heares a broken Amorous groan
The panting Lovers fainting moan
Just in the happy minute.

Frighted she wakes and wakeing Friggs
Nature thus kindly eas'd
In dreams rais'd by her murmring Piggs
And her own Thumb between her leggs
She's Innocent and pleas'd.

SONG

[As Chloris full of harmless thought]

As Chloris full of harmless thought
Beneath the Willows lay,
Kind Love a comely Shepherd brought
To pass the time away:
She blusht to be encounter'd so
And chid the amorous Swain;
But as she strove to rise and go
He pull'd her down again.

A sudden passion seiz'd her heart
In spight of her disdain,
She found a pulse in e'ry part
And love in e'ry Vein:
Ah Youth quoth she, what charms are these
That conquer and surprise;
Ah let me! for unless you please
I have no power to rise.

She faintly spoke and trembling lay
For fear he should comply,
But Virgins Eyes their hearts betray,
And give their Tongues the lie:
Thus she who Princes had deny'd
With all their pompous Train,
Was in the lucky minute try'd
And yielded to a Swain.

SONG

[My dear Mistris has a heart]

My dear Mistris has a heart,
Soft as those kind looks she gave me,
When with Love's resistless Art,
And her eyes she did inslave me;

But her Constancy's so weak,
She's so wild and apt to wander,
That my Jealous heart wou'd break,
Should we live one day asunder.

Melting Joys about her move
Killing Pleasures, wounding Blisses,
She can dress her Eyes in Love,
And her Lips can arm with Kisses;
Angels listen when she speaks,
She's my delight, all Mankinds wonder;
But my Jelous heart would break,
Should we live one day asunder.

Song.

[Phillis, be gentler I advice]

Phillis, be gentler I advice,
Make up for time mispent,
When Beauty, on its Death-Bed lyes,
'Tis high time to repent.

Such is the Malice of your Fate,
That makes you old so soon,
Your pleasure ever comes too late,
How early e're begun.

Think what a wretched thing is she,
Whose Stars, contrive in spight,
The Morning of her love shou'd be,
Her fading Beauties Night.

Then if to make your ruin more,
You'll peevishly be coy,
Dye with the scandal of a Whore,
And never know the joy.

Upon his leaving his Mistriss.

'Tis not that I'm weary grown,
Of being yours, and yours alone;
But with what Face can I incline,
To damn you to be only mine?
You whom some kinder Pow'r did fashion,
By merit, and by inclination,
The joy at least of one whole Nation.

Let meaner Spirits of your Sex,
With humbler aims, their thoughts perplex,
And boast, if by their Arts they can,
Contrive to make one happy Man;
Whilst mov'd by an impartial Sense,
Favours like Nature you dispense,
With Universal influence.

See the kind Seed-receiving Earth,
To ev'ry Grain affords a Birth;
On her no Show'rs unwelcome fall,
Her willing Womb, retains 'em all,
And shall my Celia be confin'd?
No, live up to thy mighty Mind,
And be the Mistriss of Mankind.

Upon his Drinking a Bowl.

Vulcan contrive me such a Cup,
As Nestor us'd of old;
Shew all thy skill to trim it up,
Damask it round with Gold.

Make it so large, that fill'd with Sack,
Up to the swelling brim,
Vast Toasts, on the delicious Lake,
Like Ships at Sea may swim.

Engrave no Battail on his Cheek,
With War, I've nought to do;
I'm none of those that took Mastrich,
Nor Yarmouth Leager knew.

Let it no name of Planets tell,
Fixt Stars, or Constellations;
For I am no Sir Sydrophell,
Nor none of his Relations.

But carve thereon a spreading Vine,
Then add Two lovely Boys;
Their Limbs in Amorous folds intwine,
The Type of future joys.

Cupid, and Bacchus, my Saints are,
May drink, and Love, still reign,
With Wine, I wash away my cares,
And then to Cunt again.

A SONG.

[Absent from thee I languish still]

1

Absent from thee I languish still,
Then ask me not, when I return?
The straying Fool 'twill plainly kill,
To wish all Day, all Night to Mourn.

2

Dear; from thine Arms then let me flie,
That my Fantastick mind may prove,
The Torments it deserves to try,
That tears my fixt Heart from my Love.

3

When wearied with a world of Woe,
To thy safe Bosom I retire
Where Love and Peace and Truth does flow,
May I contented there expire.

4

Lest once more wandring from that Heav'n
I fall on some base heart unblest;
Faithless to thee, False, unforgiv'n,
And lose my Everlasting rest.

Song.

[How happy Cloris (were they free)]

How happy Cloris (were they free)
Might our Enjoyments prove,
But you with formall Jealousie
Are still tormenting Love.

Let us (since Witt instructs us how)
Raise pleasure to the topp,
If Rivall Bottle you'll allow,
I'll suffer Rivall Fopp.

There's not a briske insipid Sparke,
That flutters in the Town,
But with your wanton Eyes you marke,
The Coxcomb for your owne.

You never thinke it worth your care,
How empty nor how dull,
The heads of your Admirers are,
Soe that their Codds be full.

All this you freely may confesse,
Yet we'll not disagree;
For did you love your pleasure lesse,
You were not fit for me.

While I, my Passion to pursue
Am whole Nights takeing in
The lusty Juice of Grapes, take you
The lusty Juice of Men.

[[Another version of the above] ]

[How perfect Cloris, and how free]

How perfect Cloris, and how free
Would these enjoyments prouve,
But you with formall jealousy
Are still tormenting Love.

Lett us (since witt instructs us how)
Raise pleasure to the topp,
If Rivall bottle you'l allow
I'le suffer rivall fopp.

Ther's not a brisk insipid sparke
That flutter in the Towne
But with your wanton eyes you marke
Him out to be your owne.

You never thinke it worth your care
How empty nor how dull
The heads of your admirers are
Soe that their backs bee full.

All this you freely may confess
Yett wee'l not disagree
For did you love you pleasures less
You were not fitt for mee.

Whilst I my passion to persue
Am whole nights taking in
The Lusty juice of grapes, take you
The juice of Lusty Men—

Upraide mee not that I designe
Tricks to delude your charmes
When running after mirth and wine
I leave your Longing Armes.

For wine (whose power alone can raise
Our thoughts soe farr above)
Affords Idea's fitt to praise
What wee thinke fitt to Love.

To A Lady, in A Letter.

1

Such perfect Blisse faire Chloris, wee
In our Enjoyment prove
'Tis pitty restless Jealiousy
Should Mingle with our Love.

2

Lett us (since witt has taught us how)
Raise pleasure to the Topp
You Rivall Bottle must allow
I'le suffer Rivall Fopp.

3

Thinke not in this, that I designe
A Treason 'gainst Loves Charmes
When following the God of Wine
I Leave my Chloris armes.

4

Since you have that for all your hast
Att which I'le ne're repine
Will take his Likour of as fast
As I can take of mine.

5

There's not A brisk insipid Sparke
That Flutters in the Towne
But with your wanton eyes, you marke
Him out to be your owne.

6

Nor doe you thinke it worth your care
How empty and how dull
The heads of your Admirers are
Soe that their Codds bè full.

7

All this you freely may Confesse
Yett wee nere disagree
For did you love your pleasure lesse
You were noe Match for mee.

8

Whilst I my pleasure to pursue
Whole nights am takeing in,
The Lusty Juice of Grapes, take you
The Juice of Lusty Men.

Against Constancy.

Tell me no more of constancy,
that frivolous pretence,
Of cold age, narrow jealousie,
disease and want of sence.

Let duller fools on whom kind chance
some easie heart has thrown,
Despairing higher to advance,
be kind to one alone.

Old men and weak, whose idle flame,
their own defects discovers,
Since changing can but spread their shame,
ought to be constant lovers;

But we, whose hearts do justly swell,
with no vain-glorious pride,
Who know how we in love excell,
long to be often try'd.

Then bring my Bath, and strew my bed,
as each kind night returns,
Ile change a Mistress till i'me dead,
and fate change me for worms.

Song.

[While on those lovely looks I gaze]

While on those lovely looks I gaze,
To see a wretch pursuing,
In raptures of a blest amaze
His pleasing happy Ruin:

'Tis not for pity that I move,
His ffate is too aspiring;
Whose heart broke, with a load of Love,
Dyes, wishing and admiring.

But, if this murder you'd forego,
Your Slave from Death removing,
Let me your Art of Charming know,
Or learn you mine of Loving.

But whether Life or Death betide,
In Love 'tis equal measure;
The Victor lives with empty Pride,
The Vanquish'd dyes with Pleasure.

Love and Life

a Song

All my past life is mine noe more
The flying Houres are gon
Like transitory Dreames giv'n ore
Whose Images are kept in Store
By Memory alone.

What ever is to come is not
How can it then be mine,
The present Moment's all my Lott
And that as fast as it is got
Phillis is wholy thine.

Then talke not of Inconstancy,
False Hearts, and broken Vows,
If I, by Miracle can be,
This live-long Minute true to thee,
Tis all that Heav'n allows.

On Mistress Willis

Against the Charms our Ballox have
How weak all human skill is
Since they can make a Man a slave
To such a Bitch as Willis.

Whom that I may describe throughout
Assist me Bawdy Powers
I'le write upon a double Clowt
And dipp my Pen in Flowers.

Her looks demurely Impudent
Ungainly Beautifull
Her modesty is

insolent
Her witt both pert and dull.

A Prostitute to all the Town
And yet with no man Freinds
She rails and scolds when she lyes down
And Curses when she Spends.

Bawdy in thoughts, precise in Words,
Ill natur'd though a Whore,
Her Belly is a Bagg of Turds,
And her Cunt a Common shore.

Song.

[By all Loves soft, yet mighty Pow'rs]

By all Loves soft, yet mighty Pow'rs,
It is a thing unfit,
That Men shou'd Fuck in time of Flow'rs,
Or when the Smock's beshit.

Fair nasty Nymph, be clean and kind,
And all my joys restore;
By using Paper still behind,
And Spunges for before.

My spotless Flames can ne're decay,
If after ev'ry close,
My smoaking Prick escape the Fray,
Without a Bloody Nose;

If thou wou'dst have me true, be wise,
And take to cleanly sinning;
None but fresh Lovers Pricks can rise,
At Phillis in foul linnen.