 | Poems |  |
8
J. C.
Anagr. I can be any Lover.
See how the letters of thy Name impartThe very whispers of thy heart.
This name came surely out of Adams mint,
It bears so well thy Natures print.
Woman, materia prima, doth present,
Is to all Formes indifferent,
As Pictures do at once with various eyes,
Distinctly view all companies,
With such a stedfast look, that each man would
Swear they did only him behold.
Thus run we in a Wheel, where stedfast ground
To fix our footing is not found,
Whilst Womans heart incliningly doth move
Like twigs to every sigh of Love.
She who imparts her smiles to more then one,
May many like, but can love none.
The force of all things in contraction lies,
And love thrives by Monopolies.
Those Glasses that collect the scatterd rayes
Into one point, a flame can raise:
Straiten the object, you increase loves store;
So loving lesse, you love the more.
| Poems | |