The Works of Mr Abraham Cowley :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Works of Mr Abraham Cowley

Consisting of Those which were formerly Printed: And Those which he Design'd for the Press, Now Published out of the Authors Original Copies ... The Text Edited by A. R. Waller

Cowley, Abraham (1618-1667)

THE MISTRESS:

Written in Juice of Lemmon.

Leaving Me, and then loving Many.

My Heart discovered.

Answer to the Platonicks.

Resolved to be beloved.

The Heart fled again.

[Then like some wealthy Island thou shalt ly]

Looking on, and discoursing with his Mistress.

Verses lost upon a Wager.

Bathing in the River.

Love given over.

Pindarique ODES,

[subsection]

Verses written on several occasions.

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THE MISTRESS:

OR, SEVERAL COPIES OF LOVE-VERSES.

Virg. Æn. 4. —Hæret lateri lethalis arundo.

The Request.

1

I'have often wisht to love; what shall I do?
Me still the cruel Boy does spare;
And I a double task must bear,
First to woo him, and then a Mistress too.
Come at last and strike for shame;
If thou art any thing besides a name.
I'le think Thee else no God to be;
But Poets rather Gods, who first created Thee.

2

I ask not one in whom all beauties grow,
Let me but love, what e're she be,
She cannot seem deform'd to me;
And I would have her seem to others so.
Desire takes wings and strait does fly,
It stays not dully to inquire the Why.
That Happy thing a Lover grown,
I shall not see with others Eyes, scarce with mine own.

3

If she be coy and scorn my noble fire,
If her chill heart I cannot move,
Why I'le enjoy the very Love,
And make a Mistress of my own Desire.
Flames their most vigorous heat do hold,
And purest light, if compast round with cold:
So when sharp Winter means most harm,
The springing Plants are by the Snow it self kept warm.

4

But do not touch my heart, and so be gone;
Strike deep thy burning arrows in:
Lukewarmness I account a sin,
As great in Love, as in Religion.
Come arm'd with flames, for I would prove
All the extremities of mighty Love.
Th' excess of heat is but a fable;
We know the torrid Zone is now found habitable.

5

Among the Woods and Forrests thou art found,
There Bores and Lyons thou dost tame;
Is not my heart a nobler game?
Let Venus, Men; and Beasts, Diana wound.
Thou dost the Birds thy Subjects make;
Thy nimble feathers do their wings o'retake:
Thou all the Spring their Songs dost hear,
Make me Love too, I'll sing to' thee all the year.

6

What service can mute Fishes do to Thee?
Yet against them thy Dart prevails,
Piercing the armour of their Scales;
And still thy Sea-born Mother lives i'th' Sea.
Dost thou deny onely to me
The no-great privilege of Captivitie?
I beg or challenge here thy Bow;
Either thy pity to me, or else thine anger show.

7

Come; or I'll teach the world to scorn that Bow:
I'll teach them thousand wholesome arts
Both to resist and cure thy darts,
More then thy skilful Ovid e're did know.
Musick of sighs thou shalt not hear,
Nor drink one wretched Lovers tasteful Tear:
Nay, unless soon thou woundest me,
My Verses shall not onely wound, but murther Thee.

The Thraldome.

1

I came, I Saw, and was undone;
Lightning did through my bones and marrow run;
A pointed pain pierc'd deep my heart;
A swift, cold trembling seiz'd on every part;
My head turn'd round, nor could it bear
The Poison that was enter'd there.

2

So a destroying Angels breath
Blows in the Plague, and with it hasty Death.
Such was the pain, did so begin
To the poor wretch, when Legion entred in.
Forgive me, God, I cry'd; for I
Flatter'd my self I was to dye.

3

But quickly to my Cost I found,
'Twas cruel Love, not Death had made the wound:
Death a more generous rage does use;
Quarter to all he conquers does refuse.
Whilst Love with barbarous mercy saves
The vanquisht lives to make them slaves.

4

I am thy slave then; let me know,
Hard Master, the great task I have to do:
Who pride and scorn do undergo,
In tempests and rough Seas thy Galleys row;
They pant, and groan, and sigh, but find
Their sighs encrease the angry wind.

5

Like an Egyptian Tyrant, some
Thou weariest out, in building but a Tomb.
Others with sad and tedious art,
Labour i'the' Quarries of a stony Heart;
Of all the works thou dost assign,
To all the several slaves of thine,
Employ me, mighty Love, to dig the Mine.

The Given Love.

1

I'll on; for what should hinder me
From Loving, and Enjoying Thee?
Thou canst not those exceptions make,
Which vulgar sordid Mortals take,
That my Fate's too mean and low;
'Twere pity I should love thee so,
If that dull cause could hinder me
In Loving, and Enjoying thee.

2

It does not me a whit displease,
That the rich all honours seize;
That you all Titles make your own,
Are Valiant, Learned, Wise alone.
But if you claim o're Women too
The power which over Men ye do;
If you alone must Lovers be;
For that, Sirs, you must pardon me.

3

Rather then lose what does so near
Concern my Life and Being here,
I'll some such crooked ways invent,
As you, or your Fore-fathers went:
I'll flatter or oppose the King,
Turn Puritan, or Any Thing;
I'll force my Mind to arts so new:
Grow Rich, and Love as well as You.

4

But rather thus let me remain,
As Man in Paradise did reign;
When perfect Love did so agree
With Innocence and Povertie.
Adam did no Joynture give,
Himself was Joynture to his Eve:
Untoucht with Av'arice yet or Pride,
The Rib came freely back to 'his side.

5

A curse upon the man who taught
Women, that Love was to be bought;
Rather dote only on your Gold;
And that with greedy av'arice hold;
For if Woman too submit
To that, and sell her self for it,
Fond Lover, you a Mistress have
Of her, that's but your Fellow-slave.

6

What should those Poets mean of old
That made their God to woo in Gold?
Of all men sure They had no cause
To bind Love to such costly Laws;
And yet I scarcely blame them now;
For who, alas, would not allow,
That Women should such gifts receive,
Could They, as He, Be what They give.

7

If thou, my Dear, Thy self shouldst prize,
Alas, what value would suffize?
The Spaniard could not do't, though he
Should to both Indies joynture thee.
Thy beauties therefore wrong will take,
If thou shouldst any bargain make;
To give All will befit thee well;
But not at Under-Rates to sell.

8

Bestow thy Beauty then on me,
Freely, as Nature gave't to Thee;
'Tis an exploded Popish thought
To think that Heaven may be bought.
Pray'rs, Hymns, and Praises are the way;
And those my thankful Muse shall pay;
Thy Body in my verse enshrin'd,
Shall grow immortal as thy Mind.

9

I'll fix thy title next in fame
To Sacharissas well-sung name.
So faithfully will I declare
What all thy wondrous beauties are,
That when at the last great Assise,
All Women shall together rise,
Men strait shall cast their eyes on Thee
And know at first that Thou art She.

The Spring.

1

Though you be absent here, I needs must say
The Trees as beauteous are, and flowers as gay,
As ever they were wont to be;
Nay the Birds rural musick too
Is as melodious and free,
As if they sung to pleasure you:
I saw a Rose-Bud o'pe this morn; I'll swear
The blushing Morning open'd not more fair.

2

How could it be so fair, and you away?
How could the Trees be beauteous, Flowers so gay?
Could they remember but last year,
How you did Them, They you delight,
The sprouting leaves which saw you here,
And call'd their Fellows to the sight,
Would, looking round for the same sight in vain,
Creep back into their silent Barks again.

3

Where ere you walk'd trees were as reverend made,
As when of old Gods dwelt in every shade.
Is't possible they should not know,
What loss of honor they sustain,
That thus they smile and flourish now,
And still their former pride retain?
Dull Creatures! 'tis not without Cause that she,
Who fled the God of wit, was made a Tree.

4

In ancient times sure they much wiser were,
When they rejoyc'd the Thracian verse to hear;
In vain did Nature bid them stay,
When Orpheus had his song begun,
They call'd their wondring roots away,
And bad them silent to him run.
How would those learned trees have followed you?
You would have drawn Them, and their Poet too.

5

But who can blame them now? for, since you're gone,
They're here the only Fair, and Shine alone.
You did their Natural Rights invade;
Where ever you did walk or sit,
The thickest Boughs could make no shade,
Although the Sun had granted it:
The fairest Flowers could please no more, neer you,
Then Painted Flowers, set next to them, could do.

6

When e're then you come hither, that shall be
The time, which this to others is, to Me.
The little joys which here are now,
The name of Punishments do bear;
When by their sight they let us know
How we depriv'd of greater are.
'Tis you the best of Seasons with you bring;
This is for Beasts, and that for Men the Spring.

Written in Juice of Lemmon.

1

Whilst what I write I do not see,
I dare thus, even to you, write Poetry.
Ah foolish Muse, which do'st so high aspire,
And know'st her judgment well
How much it does thy power excel,
Yet dar'st be read by, thy just doom, the Fire.

2

Alas, thou think'st thy self secure,
Because thy form is Innocent and Pure:
Like Hypocrites, which seem unspotted here;
But when they sadly come to dye,
And the last Fire their Truth must try,
Scrauld o're like thee, and blotted they appear.

3

Go then, but reverently go,
And, since thou needs must sin, confess it too:
Confess't, and with humility clothe thy shame;
For thou, who else must burned be
An Heretick, if she pardon thee,
May'st like a Martyr then enjoy the Flame.

4

But if her wisdom grow severe,
And suffer not her goodness to be there;
If her large mercies cruelly it restrain;
Be not discourag'd, but require
A more gentle Ordeal Fire,
And bid her by Loves-Flames read it again.

5

Strange power of heat, thou yet dost show
Like winter earth, naked, or cloath'd with Snow,
But, as the quickning Sun approaching near,
The Plants arise up by degrees,
A sudden paint adorns the trees,
And all kind Natures Characters appear.

6

So, nothing yet in Thee is seen,
But when a Genial heat warms thee within,
A new-born Wood of various Lines there grows;
Here buds an A, and there a B,
Here sprouts a V, and there a T,
And all the flourishing Letters stand in Rows.

7

Still, silly Paper, thou wilt think
That all this might as well be writ with Ink.
Oh no; there's sense in this, and Mysterie;
Thou now maist change thy Authors name,
And to her Hand lay noble claim;
For as She Reads, she Makes the words in Thee.

8

Yet if thine own unworthiness
Will still, that thou art mine, not Hers, confess;
Consume thy self with Fire before her Eyes,
And so her Grace or Pity move;
The Gods, though Beasts they do not Love,
Yet like them when they'r burnt in Sacrifice.

Inconstancy.

Five years ago (says Story) I lov'd you,
For which you call me most Inconstant now;
Pardon me, Madam, you mistake the Man;
For I am not the same that I was than;
No Flesh is now the same 'twas then in Me,
And that my Mind is chang'd your self may see.
The same Thoughts to retain still, and Intents
Were more inconstant far; for Accidents
Must of all things most strangely 'Inconstant prove,
If from one Subject they t'another move;
My Members then, the Father members were
From whence These take their birth, which now are here.
If then this Body love what th' other did,
'Twere Incest; which by Nature is forbid.
You might as well this Day inconstant name,
Because the Weather is not still the same,
That it was yesterday: or blame the Year,
Cause the Spring, Flowers; and Autumn, Fruit does bear.
The World's a Scene of Changes, and to be
Constant, in Nature were Inconstancy;
For 'twere to break the Laws her self has made:
Our Substances themselves do fleet and fade;
The most fixt Being still does move and fly,
Swift as the wings of Time 'tis measur'd by.
T'imagine then that Love should never cease
(Love which is but the Ornament of these)
Were quite as senseless, as to wonder why
Beauty and Colour stays not when we dye.

Not Fair.

'Tis very true, I thought you once as fair,
As women in th'Idæa are.
Whatever here seems beauteous, seem'd to be
But a faint Metaphor of Thee.

But then (methoughts) there something shin'd within,
Which cast this Lustre o're thy skin.
Nor could I chuse but count it the Suns Light,
Which made this Cloud appear so bright.
But since I knew thy falshood and thy pride,
And all thy thousand faults beside;
A very Moor (methinks) plac'd near to Thee,
White, as his Teeth, would seem to be.
So men (they say) by Hells delusions led,
Have ta'ne a Succu'bus to their bed;
Believe it fair, and themselves happy call,
Till the cleft Foot discovers all:
Then they start from't, half Ghosts themselves with fear;
And Devil, as 'tis, it does appear.
So since against my will I found Thee foul,
Deform'd and crooked in thy Soul,
My Reason strait did to my Senses shew,
That they might be mistaken too:
Nay when the world but knows how false you are,
There's not a man will think you fair.
Thy shape will monstrous in their fancies be,
They'l call their Eyes as false as Thee.
Be what thou wilt; Hate will present thee so,
As Puritans do the Pope, and Papists Luther do.

Platonick Love.

1

Indeed I must confess,
When Souls mix 'tis an Happiness;
But not compleat till Bodies too combine,
And closely as our minds together join;
But half of Heaven the Souls in glory tast,
'Till by Love in Heaven at last,
Their Bodies too are plac't.

2

In thy immortal part
Man, as well as I, thou art.
But something 'tis that differs Thee and Me;
And we must one even in that difference be.
I Thee, both as a man, and woman prize;
For a perfect Love implies
Love in all Capacities.

3

Can that for true love pass,
When a fair Woman courts her glass?
Something unlike must in Loves likeness be,
His wonder is, one, and Variety.
For he, whose soul nought but a soul can move,
Does a new Narcissus prove,
And his own Image love.

4

That souls do beauty know,
'Tis to the Bodies help they owe;
If when they know't, they strait abuse that trust,
And shut the Body from't, 'tis as unjust,
As if I brought my dearest Friend to see
My Mistress, and at th'instant He
Should steal her quite from Me.

The Change.

1

Love in her Sunny Eyes does basking play;
Love walks the pleasant Mazes of her Hair;
Love does on both her Lips for ever stray;
And sows and reaps a thousand kisses there.
In all her outward parts Love's always seen;
But, oh, He never went within.

2

Within Love's foes, his greatest foes abide,
Malice, Inconstancy, and Pride.
So the Earths face, Trees, Herbs, and Flowers do dress,
With other beauties numberless:
But at the Center, Darkness is, and Hell;
There wicked Spirits, and there the Damned dwell.

3

With me alas, quite contrary it fares;
Darkness and Death lies in my weeping eyes,
Despair and Paleness in my face appears,
And Grief, and Fear, Love's greatest Enemies;
But, like the Persian-Tyrant, Love within
Keeps his proud Court, and ne're is seen.

4

Oh take my Heart, and by that means you'll prove
Within, too stor'd enough of Love:
Give me but Yours, I'll by that change so thrive,
That Love in all my parts shall live.
So powerful is this change, it render can,
My outside Woman, and your inside Man.

Clad all in White.

1

Fairest thing that shines below,
Why in this robe dost thou appear?
Wouldst thou a white most perfect show,
Thou must at all no garment wear:
Thou wilt seem much whiter so,
Then Winter when 'tis clad with snow.

2

'Tis not the Linnen shews so fair:
Her skin shines through, and makes it bright;
So clouds themselves like Suns appear,
When the Sun pierces them with Light:
So Lillies in a glass enclose,
The Glass will seem as white as those.

3

Thou now one heap of beauty art;
Nought outwards, or within is foul:
Condensed beams make every part;
Thy Body's Clothed like thy Soul.
Thy soul, which does it self display,
Like a star plac'd i'th' Milkie way.

4

Such robes the Saints departed wear,
Woven all with Light divine;
Such their exalted Bodies are,
And with such full glory shine.
But they regard not mortals pain;
Men pray, I fear, to both in vain.

5

Yet seeing thee so gently pure,
My hopes will needs continue still;
Thou wouldst not take this garment sure,
When thou hadst an intent to kill.
Of Peace and yielding who would doubt,
When the white Flag he sees hung out?

Leaving Me, and then loving Many.

So Men, who once have cast the Truth away,
Forsook by God, do strange wild lusts obey;
So the vain Gentiles, when they left t' adore
One Deity, could not stop at thousands more.

Their zeal was senseless strait, and boundless grown;
They worshipt many a Beast, and many a Stone.
Ah fair Apostate! couldst thou think to flee
From Truth and Goodness, yet keep Unity?
I reign'd alone; and my blest Self could call
The Universal Monarch of her All.
Mine, mine her fair East-Indies were above,
Where those Suns rise that chear the world of Love;
Where beauties shine like Gems of richest price;
Where Coral grows, and every breath is spice:
Mine too her rich West-Indies were below,
Where Mines of gold and endless treasures grow.
But, as, when the Pellæan Conquerour dy'd,
Many small Princes did his Crown divide,
So, since my Love his vanquisht world forsook,
Murther'd by poysons from her falshood took,
An hundred petty Kings claim each their part,
And rend that glorious Empire of her Heart.

My Heart discovered.

Her body is so gently bright,
Clear, and transparent to the sight,
(Clear as fair Christal to the view,
Yet soft as that, e're Stone it grew,)
That through her flesh, methinks, is seen
The brighter Soul that dwells within:
Our eyes the subtile covering pass,
And see that Lilly through its Glass.
I through her Breast her Heart espy,
As Souls in hearts do Souls descry,
I see't with gentle Motions beat;
I see Light in't, but find no Heat.
Within, like Angels in the sky,
A thousand guilded thoughts do fly:
Thoughts of bright and noblest kind,
Fair and chast, as Mother-Mind.
But, oh, what other Heart is there,
Which sighs and crouds to hers so neer?

'Tis all on flame, and does like fire,
To that, as to its Heaven, aspire,
The wounds are many in't and deep;
Still does it bleed, and still does weep.
Whose ever wretched heart it be,
I cannot chuse but grieve to see;
What pity in my Breast does raign?
Methinks I feel too all its pain.
So torn, and so defac'd it lies,
That it could ne're be known by th' eyes;
But, oh, at last I heard it grone,
And knew by th' Voyce that 'twas mine own.
So poor Alcione, when she saw
A shipwrackt body tow'ards her draw
Beat by the Waves, let fall a Tear,
Which only then did Pity wear:
But when the Corps on shore were cast,
Which she her Husband found at last;
What should the wretched Widow do?
Grief chang'd her straight; away she flew,
Turn'd to a Bird: and so at last shall I,
Both from my Murther'd Heart, and Murth'rer fly.

Answer to the Platonicks.

So Angels love; so let them love for me;
When I'am all soul, such shall my Love too be:
Who nothing here but like a Spirit would do,
In a short time (believ't) will be one too:
But shall our Love do what in Beasts we see?
E'ven Beasts eat too, but not so well as We.
And you as justly might in thirst refuse
The use of Wine, because Beasts Water use:
They taste those pleasures as they do their food;
Undrest they tak't, devour it raw and crude:
But to us Men, Love Cooks it at his fire,
And adds the poignant sawce of sharp desire.
Beasts do the same: 'tis true; but ancient fame
Says, Gods themselves turn'd Beasts to do the same.

The Thunderer, who, without the Female bed,
Could Goddesses bring forth from out his head,
Chose rather Mortals this way to create;
So much he 'esteemed his pleasure, 'bove his state.
Ye talk of Fires which shine, but never burn;
In this cold world they'll hardly serve our turn;
As useless to despairing Lovers grown,
As Lambent flames, to men i'th' Frigid Zone.
The Sun does his pure fires on earth bestow
With nuptial warmth, to bring forth things below;
Such is Loves noblest and divinest heat,
That warms like his, and does, like his, beget.
Lust you call this; a name to yours more just,
If an Inordinate Desire be Lust:
Pygmalion, loving what none can enjoy,
More lustful was, than the hot youth of Troy.

The vain Love.

Loving one first because she could love no body, afterwards loving her with desire.

What new-found Witchcraft was in thee,
With thine own Cold to kindle Me?
Strange art! like him that should devise
To make a Burning-Glass of Ice;
When Winter, so, the Plants would harm,
Her snow it self does keep them warm;
Fool that I was! who having found
A rich, and sunny Diamond,
Admir'd the hardness of the Stone,
But not the Light with which it shone:
Your brave and haughty scorn of all
Was stately, and Monarchical.
All Gentleness with that esteem'd
A dull and slavish virtue seem'd;
Shouldst thou have yielded then to me,
Thou'dst lost what I most lov'd in thee;
For who would serve one, whom he sees
That he can Conquer if he please?

It far'ed with me, as if a slave
In Triumph led, that does perceive
With what a gay majestick pride
His Conqu'eror through the streets does ride,
Should be contented with his wo,
Which makes up such a comly show.
I sought not from thee a return,
But without Hopes or Fears did burn;
My Covetous Passion did approve
The Hoording up, not Use of Love.
My Love a kind of Dream was grown,
A Foolish, but a Pleasant one:
From which I'm wakened now, but, oh,
Prisoners to dye are wakened so.
For now th' Effects of Loving are
Nothing, but Longings with despair.
Despair, whose torments no men sure
But Lovers, and the Damn'd endure.
Her scorn I doted once upon,
Ill Object for Affection,
But since, alas, too much 'tis prov'd,
That yet 'twas something that I lov'd;
Now my desires are worse, and fly
At an Impossibility:
Desires, which whilst so high they soar,
Are Proud as that I lov'd before.
What Lover can like me complain,
Who first lov'd vainly, next in vain!

The Soul.

1.

If mine Eyes do e're declare
They have seen a second thing that's fair;
Or Ears, that they have Musick found,
Besides thy Voice, in any Sound;
If my Tast do ever meet,
After thy Kiss, with ought that's sweet;

If my 'abused Touch allow
Ought to be smooth, or soft, but You;
If, what seasonable Springs,
Or the Eastern Summer brings,
Do my Smell perswade at all,
Ought Perfume, but thy Breath to call;
If all my senses Objects be
Not contracted into Thee,
And so through Thee more powe'rful pass,
As Beams do through a Burning-Glass;
If all things that in Nature are
Either soft, or sweet, or fair,
Be not in Thee so 'Epitomiz'd,
That nought material's not compriz'd;
May I as worthless seem to Thee
As all, but Thou, appears to Me.

2.

If I ever Anger know,
Till some wrong be done to You;
If Gods or Kings my Envy move,
Without their Crowns crown'd by thy Love;
If ever I an Hope admit,
Without thy Image stampt on it;
Or any Fear, till I begin
To find that You'r concern'd therein;
If a Joy e're come to me,
That Tasts of any thing but Thee;
If any Sorrow touch my Mind,
Whilst You are well, and not unkind;
If I a minutes space debate,
Whether I shall curse and hate
The things beneath thy hatred fall,
Though all the World, My self and all;
And for Love, if ever I
Approach to it again so nigh,
As to allow a Toleration
To the least glimmering Inclination;

If thou alone do'st not controul
All those Tyrants of my Soul,
And to thy Beauties ty'st them so,
That constant they as Habits grow;
If any Passion of my Heart,
By any force, or any art,
Be brought to move one step from Thee,
Mayst Thou no Passion have for Me.

3.

If my busie 'Imagination
Do not Thee in all things fashion;
So that all fair Species be
Hieroglyphick marks of Thee;
If when She her sports does keep
(The lower Soul being all asleep)
She play one Dream with all her art,
Where Thou hast not the longest part.
If ought get place in my Remembrance,
Without some badge of thy resemblance;
So that thy parts become to me
A kind of Art of Memory.
If my Understanding do
Seek any Knowledge but of You,
If she do near thy Body prize
Her Bodies of Philosophies,
If She to the Will do show
Ought desirable but You,
Or if That would not rebel,
Should she another doctrine tell;
If my Will do not resign
All her Liberty to thine;
If she would not follow Thee,
Though Fate and Thou shouldst disagree;
And if (for I a curse will give,
Such as shall force thee to believe)
My Soul be not entirely Thine;
May thy dear Body ne're be Mine.

The Passions.

1

From Hate, Fear, Hope, Anger, and Envy free,
And all the Passions else that be,
In vain I boast of Liberty,
In vain this State a Freedom call;
Since I have Love, and Love is all:
Sot that I am, who think it fit to brag,
That I have no Disease besides the Plague!

2

So in a zeal the Sons of Israel,
Sometimes upon their Idols fell;
And they depos'd the powers of Hell,
Baal, and Astarte down they threw,
And Accaron and Molock too:
All this imperfect Piety did no good,
Whilst yet, alas, the Calf of Bethel stood.

3

Fondly I boast, that I have drest my Vine
With painful art, and that the Wine
Is of a tast rich and divine,
Since Love by mixing Poyson there,
Has made it worse than Vinegere.
Love even the tast of Nectar changes so,
That Gods choose rather water here below.

4

Fear, Anger, Hope, all Passions else that be,
Drive this one Tyrant out of me,
And practise all your Tyranny.
The change of ills some good will do:
Th' oppressed wretched Indians so,
Be'ing slaves by the great Spanish Monarch made,
Call in the States of Holland to their aid.

Wisdom.

'Tis mighty Wise that you would now be thought
With your grave Rules from musty Morals brought:
Through which some streaks too of Divin'ity ran,
Partly of Monk, and partly Puritan;
With tedious Repetitions too y'ave tane
Often the name of Vanity in vain.
Things, which, I take it, friend, you'd ne're recite,
Should she I love, but say t' you, Come at night.
The Wisest King refus'd all pleasures quite,
Till Wisdom from above did him enlight;
But when that gift his ign'orance did remove,
Pleasures he chose, and plac'd them all in Love.
And if by 'event the Counsels may be seen,
This wisdom 'twas that brought the Southern Queen.
She came not, like a good old Wife, to know
The wholesome nature of all Plants that grow:
Nor did so far from her own Country rome,
To cure scall'd heads, and broken shins at home;
She came for that, which more befits all Wives,
The art of Giving, not of Saving Lives.

The Despair.

1

Beneath this gloomy shade,
By Nature only for my sorrows made,
I'll spend this voyce in crys,
In tears I'll waste these eyes
By Love so vainly fed;
So Lust of old the Deluge punished.
Ah wretched youth! said I,
Ah wretched youth! twice did I sadly cry:
Ah wretched youth! the fields and floods reply.

2

When thoughts of Love I entertain,
I meet no words but Never, and In vain.
Never (alas) that dreadful name,
Which fewels the infernal flame:
Never, my time to come must waste;
In vain, torments the present, and the past.
In vain, in vain! said I;
In vain, in vain! twice did I sadly cry;
In vain, in vain! the fields and floods reply.

3

No more shall fields or floods do so;
For I to shades more dark and silent go:
All this worlds noise appears to me
A dull ill-acted Comedy:
No comfort to my wounded sight,
In the Suns busie and imperti'nent Light.
Then down I laid my head;
Down on cold earth; and for a while was dead,
And my freed Soul to a strange Somewhere fled.

4

Ah sottish Soul; said I,
When back to 'its Cage again I saw it fly:
Fool to resume her broken chain!
And row her Galley here again!
Fool, to that body to return
Where it condemn'd and destin'd is to burn!
Once dead, how can it be,
Death should a thing so pleasant seem to Thee,
That thou shouldst come to live it o're again in Me?

The Wish.

1.

Well then; I now do plainly see,
This busie world and I shall ne're agree;
The very Honey of all earthly joy
Does of all meats the soonest cloy,

And they (methinks) deserve my pity,
Who for it can endure the stings,
The Crowd, and Buz, and Murmurings
Of this great Hive, the City.

2.

Ah, yet, e're I descend to th' Grave
May I a small House, and large Garden have!
And a few Friends, and many Books, both true,
Both wise, and both delightful too!
And since Love ne're will from me flee,
A Mistress moderately fair,
And good as Guardian-Angels are,
Only belov'd, and loving me!

3.

Oh, Fountains, when in you shall I
My self, eas'd of unpeaceful thoughts, espy?
Oh Fields! Oh Woods! when, when shall I be made
The happy Tenant of your shade?
Here's the Spring-head of Pleasures flood;
Where all the Riches lie, that she
Has coyn'd and stampt for good.

4.

Pride and Ambition here,
Only in far fetcht Metaphors appear;
Here nought but winds can hurtful Murmurs scatter,
And nought but Eccho flatter.
The Gods, when they descended, hither
From Heav'en did always chuse their way;
And therefore we may boldly say,
That 'tis the way too thither.

5.

How happy here should I,
And one dear She live, and embr[ac]ing dy?
She who is all the world, and can exclude
In desarts Solitude.
I should have then this only fear,
Lest men, when they my pleasures see,
Should hither throng to live like me,
And so make a City here.

My Dyet.

1

Now by my Love, the greatest Oath that is,
None loves you half so well as I:
I do not ask your Love for this;
But for Heave'ns sake believe me, or I dye.
No Servant e're but did deserve
His Master should believe that he does serve;
And I'll ask no more wages, though I starve.

2

'Tis no luxurious Diet this, and sure
I shall not by't too Lusty prove;
Yet shall it willingly endure,
If't can but keep together Life and Love.
Being your Priso'ner and your slave,
I do not Feasts and Banquets look to have,
A little Bread and Water's all I crave.

3

O'n a Sigh of Pity I a year can live,
One Tear will keep me twenty at least,
Fifty a gentle Look will give;
An hundred years on one kind word I'll feast:
A thousand more will added be,
If you an Inclination have for me;
And all beyond is vast Eternity.

The Thief.

1

Thou rob'st my Days of bus'ness and delights,
Of sleep thou rob'st my Nights;
Ah, lovely Thief what wilt thou do?
What? rob me of Heaven too?
Thou even my prayers dost steal from me.
And I, with wild Idolatry,
Begin, to God, and end them all, to Thee.

2

Is it a Sin to Love, that it should thus,
Like an ill Conscience torture us?
What e're I do, where e're I go,
(None Guiltless e're was haunted so)
Still, still, methinks thy face I view,
And still thy shape does me pursue,
As if, not you Me, but I had murthered You.

3

From Books I strive some remedy to take,
But thy Name all the Letters make;
What e're 'tis writ, I find That there,
Like Points and Comma's every where;
Me blest for this let no man hold;
For I, as Midas did of old,
Perish by turning ev'ry thing to Gold.

4

What do I seek, alas, or why do I
Attempt in vain from thee to fly?
For making thee my Deity,
I gave thee then Ubiquity.
My pains resemble Hell in this;
The Divine presence there too is,
But to torment Men, not to give them bliss.

All-over, Love.

1

'Tis well, 'tis well with them (say I)
Whose short-liv'd Passions with themselves can dye:
For none can be unhappy, who
'Midst all his ills a time does know
(Though ne're so long) when he shall not be so.

2

What ever parts of Me remain,
Those parts will still the Love of thee retain;
For 'twas not only in my Heart,
But like a God by pow'rful Art,
'Twas all in all, and all in every Part.

3

My 'Affection no more perish can
Than the First Matter that compounds a Man.
Hereafter if one Dust of Me
Mixt with anothers substance be,
'Twill Leaven that whole Lump with Love of Thee.

4

Let Nature if she please disperse
My Atoms over all the Universe,
At the last they easi'ly shall
Themselves know, and together call;
For thy Love, like a Mark, is stamp'd on all.

Love and Life.

1

Now sure, within this twelve-month past,
I' have lov'd at least some twenty years or more:
The account of Love runs much more fast
Than that, with which our Life does score:
So though my Life be short, yet I may prove
The great Methusalem of Love.

2

Not that Loves Hours or Minutes are
Shorter than those our Being's measur'ed by:
But they're more close compacted far,
And so in lesser room do lye.
Thin airy things extend themselves in space,
Things solid take up little place.

3

Yet Love, alas, and Life in Me,
Are not two several things, but purely one,
At once how can there in it be
A double different Motion?
O yes, there may: for so the self same Sun,
At once does slow and swiftly run.

4

Swiftly his daily journey 'he goes,
But treads his Annual with a statelier pace,
And does three hundred Rounds enclose
Within one yearly Circles space.
At once with double course in the same Sphære,
He runs the Day, and Walks the year.

5

When Soul does to my self refer,
'Tis then my Life, and does but slowly move;
But when it does relate to her,
It swiftly flies, and then is Love.
Love's my Diurnal course, divided right
'Twixt Hope and Fear, my Day and Night.

The Bargain.

1

Take heed, take heed, thou lovely Maid,
Nor be by glittering ills betraid;
Thy self for Money? oh, let no man know
The Price of Beauty faln so low!
What dangers ought'st thou not to dread,
When Love that's Blind is by blind Fortune led?

2

The foolish Indian that sells
His precious Gold for Beads and Bells,
Does a more wise and gainful traffick hold,
Then thou who sell'st thy self for Gold.
What gains in such a bargain are?
Hee'l in thy Mines dig better Treasures far.

3

Can Gold, alas, with Thee compare?
The Sun, that makes it 's not so fair;
The Sun which can nor make, nor ever see
A thing so beautiful as Thee,
In all the journeys he does pass,
Though the Sea serv'ed him for a Looking-glass.

4

Bold was the wretch that cheapned Thee,
Since Magus, none so bold as he:
Thou'rt so divine a thing that Thee to buy,
Is to be counted Simony;
Too dear he'l find his sordid price,
H'as forfeited that, and the Benefice.

5

If it be lawful Thee to buy,
There's none can pay that rate but I;
Nothing on earth a fitting price can be,
But what on earth's most like to Thee.
And that my Heart does only bear;
For there Thy self, Thy very self is there.

6

So much thy self does in me live,
That when it for thy self I give,
'Tis but to change that piece of Gold for this,
Whose stamp and value equal is.
And that full Weight too may be had,
My Soul and Body; two Grains more, I'll add.

The Long Life.

1

Love from Times wings hath stoln the feathers sure,
He has, and put them to his own;
For Hours of late as long as Days endure,
And very Minutes, Hours are grown.

2

The various Motions of the turning Year,
Belong not now at all to Me:
Each Summers Night does Lucies now appear,
Each Winters day St. Barnaby.

3

How long a space, since first I lov'd, it is?
To look into a glass I fear;
And am surpriz'd with wonder when I miss,
Grey-hairs and wrinkles there.

4

Th' old Patriarchs age and not their happ'iness too,
Why does hard fate to us restore?
Why does Loves Fire thus to Mankind renew,
What the Flood washt away before?

5

Sure those are happy people that complain,
O' th' shortness of the days of man:
Contract mine, Heaven, and bring them back again
To th' ordinary Span.

6

If when your gift, long Life, I disapprove,
I too ingrateful seem to be;
Punish me justly, Heaven; make Her to love,
And then 'twill be too short for me.

Counsel.

1

Gently, ah gently, Madam, touch
The wound, which you your self have made;
That pain must needs be very much,
Which makes me of your hand afraid.
Cordials of Pity give me now,
For I too weak for Purgings grow.

2

Do but a while with patience stay;
For Counsel yet will do no good,
'Till Time, and Rest, and Heav'n allay
The vi'olent burnings of my blood,
For what effect from this can flow,
To chide men drunk, for being so?

3

Perhaps the Physick's good you give,
But ne're to me can useful prove;
Med'cines may Cure, but not Revive;
And I'am not Sick, but Dead in Love.
In Loves Hell, not his World, am I;
At once I Live, am Dead, and Dye.

4

What new found Rhetorick is thine?
Ev'n thy Diswasions me perswade,
And thy great power does clearest shine,
When thy Commands are disobey'd.
In vain thou bidst me to forbear;
Obedience were Rebellion here.

5

Thy Tongue comes in, as if it meant
Against thine Eyes t'assist my Heart;
But different far was his intent:
For straight the Traitor took their part.
And by this new foe I'm bereft
Of all that Little which was left.

6

The act I must confess was wise,
As a dishonest act could be:
Well knew the Tongue (alas) your Eyes
Would be too strong for That, and Me.
And part o'th' Triumph chose to get,
Rather than be a part of it.

Resolved to be beloved.

1

'Tis true, I'have lov'd already three or four,
And shall three or four hundred more;
I'll love each fair one that I see,
Till I find one at last that shall love me.

2

That shall my Canaan be, the fatal soil,
That ends my wandrings, and my toil.
I'll settle there and happy grow;
The Country does with Milk and Honey flow.

3

The Needle trembles so, and turns about,
Till it the Northern Point find out:
But constant then and fixt does prove,
Fixt, that his dearest Pole as soon may move.

4

Then may my Vessel torn and shipwrackt be,
If it put forth again to Sea:
It never more abroad shall rome,
Though't could next voyage bring the Indies home.

5

But I must sweat in Love, and labour yet,
Till I a Competency get.
They're slothful fools who leave a Trade,
Till they a moderate Fortune by't have made.

6

Variety I ask not; give me One
To live perpetually upon.
The person Love does to us fit,
Like Manna, has the Tast of all in it.

The Same.

1

For Heavens sake, what d' you mean to do?
Keep me, or let me go, one of the two;
Youth and warm hours let me not idlely lose,
The little Time that Love does choose;
If always here I must not stay,
Let me be gone, whilst yet 'tis day;
Lest I faint, and benighted lose my way.

2

'Tis dismal, One so long to love
In vain; till to love more as vain must prove:
To hunt so long on nimble prey, till we
Too weary to take others be;
Alas, 'tis folly to remain,
And waste our Army thus in vain,
Before a City which will ne're be tane.

3

At several hopes wisely to fly,
Ought not to be esteem'd Inconstancy;
'Tis more Inconstant always to pursue,
A thing that always flies from you;
For that at last may meet a bound,
But no end can to this be found,
'Tis nought but a perpetual fruitless Round.

4

When it does Hardness meet and Pride,
My Love does then rebound t'another side;
But if it ought that's soft and yielding hit;
It lodges there, and stays in it.
Whatever 'tis shall first love me,
That it my Heaven may truly be;
I shall be sure to give't Eternity.

The Discovery.

1

By 'Heaven I'll tell her boldly that 'tis She;
Why should she asham'd or angry be,
To be belov'd by Me?
The Gods may give their Altars o're;
They'll smoak but seldom any more,
If none but Happy Men must them adore.

2

The Lightning which tall Oaks oppose in vain,
To strike sometime does not disdain
The humble Furzes of the Plain.
She being so high, and I so low,
Her power by this does greater show,
Who at such distance gives so sure a blow.

3

Compar'd with her all things so worthless prove,
That nought on earth can tow'ards her move,
Till't be exalted by her Love.
Equal to her, alas, there's none;
She like a Deity is grown;
That must Create, or else must be alone.

4

If there be man, who thinks himself so high,
As to pretend equality,
He deserves her less then I;
For he would cheat for his relief;
And one would give with lesser grief,
To'an undeserving Beggar than a Thief.

Against Fruition.

No; thou'rt a fool, I'll swear, if e're thou grant:
Much of my Veneration thou must want,
When once thy kindness puts my Ign'orance out;
For a learn'd Age is always least devout.

Keep still thy distance; for at once to me
Goddess and Woman too, thou canst not be;
Thou'rt Queen of all that sees thee; and as such
Must neither Tyrannize, nor yield too much;
Such freedoms give as may admit Command,
But keep the Forts and Magazines in thine hand.
Thou'rt yet a whole world to me, and do'est fill
My large ambition; but 'tis dang'rous still,
Lest I like the Pellæan Prince should be,
And weep for other worlds hav'ing conquer'd thee;
When Love has taken all thou hast away,
His strength by too much riches will decay.
Thou in my Fancy dost much higher stand,
Than Women can be place'd by Natures hand;
And I must needs, I'm sure, a loser be,
To change Thee, as Thou'rt there, for very Thee.
Thy sweetness is so much within me plac'd,
That shouldst thou Nectar give, 'twould spoil the tast.
Beauty at first moves wonder, and delight;
'Tis Natures juggling trick to cheat the sight,
We 'admire it, whilst unknown, but after more
Admire our selves, for liking it before.
Love, like a greedy Hawk, if we give way,
Does over-gorge himself, with his own Prey;
Of very Hopes a surfeit he'll sustain,
Unless by Fears he cast them up again:
His spirit and sweetness dangers keep alone;
If once he lose his sting, he grows a Drone.

Love undiscovered.

1

Some, others may with safety tell
The moderate Flames, which in them dwell;
And either find some Med'icine there,
Or cure themselves ev'en by Despair;
My Love's so great, that it might prove
Dang'erous, to tell her that I Love.
So tender is my wound, it must not bear
Any salute, though of the kindest air.

100

2

I would not have her know the pain,
The Torments for her I sustain,
Lest too much goodness make her throw
Her Love upon a Fate too low.
Forbid it Heaven my Life should be
Weigh'd with her least Conveniency:
No, let me perish rather with my grief,
Then to her disadvantage find relief.

3

Yet when I dye, my last breath shall
Grow bold, and plainly tell her all.
Like covetous Men who ne're descry,
Their dear hid Treasures till they dye.
Ah fairest Maid, how will it chear
My Ghost, to get from Thee a tear!
But take heed; for if me thou Pitiest then,
Twenty to one but I shall live agen.

The given Heart.

1

I wonder what those Lovers mean, who say,
They have giv'en their Hearts away.
Some good kind Lover tell me how;
For mine is but a Torment to me now.

2

If so it be, one place both hearts contain,
For what do they complain?
What courtesie can Love do more,
Than to join Hearts, that parted were before?

3

Wo to her stubborn Heart, if once mine come
Into the self same room;
'Twill tear and blow up all within,
Like a Granado shot into a Magazin.

101

4

Then shall Love keep the ashes, and torn parts,
Of both our broken Hearts:
Shall out of both one new one make,
From hers, th' Allay; from mine, the Metal take.

5

For of her heart he from the flames will find
But little left behind:
Mine only will remain entire;
No dross was there, to perish in the Fire.

The Prophet.

1.

Teach me to Love? go teach thy self more wit;
I chief Professour am of it.
Teach craft to Scots, and thrift to Jews,
Teach boldness to the Stews;
In Tyrants Courts teach supple flattery,
Teach Jesuits, that have travell'd far, to Lye.
Teach Fire to burn, and Winds to blow,
Teach restless Fountains how to flow,
Teach the dull earth, fixt, to abide,
Teach Woman-kind inconstancy and Pride.
See if your diligence here will useful prove;
But, pr'ithee, teach not me to Love.

2.

The God of Love, if such a thing there be,
May learn to love from Me.
He who does boast that he has bin
In every Heart since Adams sin,
I'll lay my Life, nay Mistress on't, that's more;
I'll teach him things he never knew before;

102

I'll teach him a Receipt to make
Words that weep, and Tears that speak,
I'll teach him Sighs, like those in Death,
At which the Souls go out too with the breath:
Still the Soul stays, yet still does from me run;
As Light and Heat does with the Sun.

3.

'Tis I who Love's Columbus am; 'tis I,
Who must new Worlds in it descry:
Rich Worlds, that yield of Treasure more,
Than all that has bin known before.
And yet like his (I fear) my Fate must be,
To find them out for others; not for Me.
Me Times to come, I know it, shall
Loves last and greatest Prophet call.
But, ah, what's that, if she refuse,
To hear the wholesome Doctrines of my Muse?
If to my share the Prophets fate must come;
Hereafter Fame, here Martyrdome.

The Resolution.

1

The Devil take those foolish men,
Who gave you first such pow'rs;
We stood on even grounds till then;
If any odds, Creation made it ours.

2

For shame let these weak Chains be broke;
Let's our slight bonds, like Sampson, tear;
And nobly cast away that yoke,
Which we nor our Forefathers e're could bear.

3

French Laws forbid the Female Raign;
Yet Love does them to slavery draw,
Alas, if we'll our rights maintain,
'Tis all Mankind must make a Salique Law.

103

Called Inconstant.

1

Ha! ha! you think y'have kill'd my fame;
By this not understood, yet common Name:
A Name, that's full and proper when assign'd
To Woman-kind:
But when you call us so,
It can at best but for a Met'aphor go.

2

Can you the shore Inconstant call,
Which still as Waves pass by, embraces all;
That had as leif the same Waves always love,
Did they not from him move?
Or can you fault with Pilots find
For changing course, yet never blame the wind?

3

Since drunk with vanity you fell:
The things turn round to you that stedfast dwell;
And you your self, who from us take your flight,
Wonder to find us out of sight.
So the same errour seizes you,
As Men in motion think the Trees move too.

The Welcome.

1

Go, let the fatted Calf be kill'd;
My Prodigal's come home at last;
With noble resolutions fill'd,
And fill'd with sorrow for the past.
No more will burn with Love or Wine:
But quite has left his Women and his Swine.

104

2

Welcome, ah welcome my poor Heart;
Welcome; I little thought, I'll swear,
('Tis now so long since we did part)
Ever again to see thee here:
Dear Wanderer, since from me you fled,
How often have I heard that Thou wer't dead!

3

Hast thou not found each womans breast
(The Lands where thou hast travelled)
Either by Savages possest,
Or wild, and uninhabited?
What joy couldst take, or what repose
In Countrys so unciviliz'd as those?

4

Lust, the scorching Dog-star, here
Rages with immoderate heart;
Whilst Pride the rugged Northern Bear,
In others makes the Cold too great.
And where these are temp'rate known,
The Soyl's all barren Sand, or rocky Stone.

5

When once or twice you chanc'd to view
A rich, well-govern'd Heart,
Like China, it admitted You
But to the Frontier-part.
From Par'adise shut for evermore,
What good is't that an Angel kept the Door?

6

Well fare the Pride, and the Disdain,
And Vanities with Beauty joyn'd,
I ne're had seen this Heart again,
If any Fair one had been kind:
My Dove, but once let loose, I doubt
Would ne're return, had not the Flood been out.

105

The Heart fled again.

1

False, foolish Heart! didst thou not say,
That thou wouldst never leave me more?
Behold again 'tis fled away,
Fled as far from me as before.
I strove to bring it back again,
I cry'd and hollow'd after it in vain.

2

Even so the gentle Tyrian Dame,
When neither Grief nor Love prevail,
Saw the dear object of her flame,
Th'ingrateful Trojan hoist his sail:
Aloud she call'd to him to stay;
The wind bore him, and her lost words away.

3

The doleful Ariadne so,
On the wide shore forsaken stood:
False Theseus, whither dost thou go?
Afar false Theseus cut the flood.
But Bacchus came to her relief;
Bacchus himself's too weak to ease my grief.

4

Ah senseless Heart, to take no rest,
But travel thus eternally!
Thus to be froz'n in every breast!
And to be scorcht in every Eye!
Wandring about like wretched Cain,
Thrust out, ill us'd by all, but by none slain!

5

Well; since thou wilt not here remain,
I'll ev'en to live without Thee try;
My Head shall take the greater pain,
And all thy duties shall supply;
I can more easi'ly live I know
Without Thee, then without a Mistress Thou.

106

Womens Superstition.

1

Or I'm a very Dunce, or Womankind
Is a most unintelligible thing:
I can no Sense, nor no Contexture find,
Nor their loose parts to Method bring,
I know not what the Learn'd may see,
But they're strange Hebrew things to Me.

2

By Customs and Traditions they live,
And foolish Ceremonies of antique date,
We Lovers, new and better Doctrines give.
Yet they continue obstinate;
Preach we, Loves Prophets, what we will,
Like Jews, they keep their old Law still.

3

Before their Mothers Gods, they fondly fall,
Vain Idol-Gods that have no Sense nor Mind:
Honour's their Ashtaroth, and Pride their Baal,
The Thundring Baal of Woman-kind.
With twenty other Devils more,
Which They, as We do Them, adore.

4

But then, like Men both Covetous and Devout,
Their costly Superstition loth t'omit,
And yet more loth to issue Moneys out,
At their own charge to furnish it.
To these expensive Deities,
The Hearts of Men they Sacrifice.

107

The Soul.

1

Some dull Philos'opher when he hears me say,
My Soul is from me fled away;
Nor has of late inform'd my Body here,
But in anothers breast does ly,
That neither Is, nor will be I,
As a Form Servient and Assisting there:

2

Will cry, Absurd! and ask me, how I live:
And Syllogisms against it give;
A curse on all your vain Philosophies,
Which on weak Natures Law depend,
And know not how to comprehend
Love and Religion, those great Mysteries.

3

Her Body is my Soul; laugh not at this,
For by my Life I swear it is.
'Tis that preserves my Being and my Breath,
From that proceeds all that I do,
Nay all my Thoughts and speeches too,
And separation from it is my Death.

Eccho.

1

Tir'ed with the rough denials of my Prayer,
From that hard she whom I obey,
I come, and find a Nymph, much gentler here,
That gives consent to all I say.
Ah gentle Nymph who lik'st so well,
In hollow, solitary Caves to dwell,
Her Heart being such, into it go,
And do but once from thence answer me so.

108

2

Complaisant Nymph, who do'est thus kindly share
In griefs, whose cause thou do'est not know!
Hadst thou but Eyes, as well as Tongue and Ear,
How much compassion wouldst thou show!
Thy flame, whilst living, or a flower,
Was of less beauty, and less rav'ishing power;
Alas, I might as easilie,
Paint thee to her, as describe Her to Thee.

3

By repercussion Beams engender Fire,
Shapes by reflexion shapes beget;
The voyce it self, when stopt, does back retire,
And a new voice is made by it.
Thus things by opposition
The gainers grow; my barren Love alone,
Does from her stony breast rebound,
Producing neither Image, Fire, nor Sound.

The rich Rival.

1

They say you're angry, and rant mightilie,
Because I love the same as you;
Alas! you're very rich; 'tis true;
But prithee Fool, what's that to Love and Me?
You'have Land and Money, let that serve;
And know you'have more by that than you deserve.

2

When next I see my fair One, she shall know,
How worthless thou art of her bed;
And wretch, I'll strike thee dumb and dead,
With noble verse not understood by you;
Whilst thy sole Rhetorick shall be
Joynture, and Jewels, and Our Friends agree.

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3

Pox o' your friends, that dote and Domineere:
Lovers are better Friends than they:
Let's those in other things obey;
The Fates, and Stars, and Gods must govern here.
Vain names of Blood! in Love let none
Advise with any Blood, but with their own.

4

'Tis that which bids me this bright Maid adore;
No other thought has had access!
Did she now beg I'd love no less,
And were she'an Empress, I should love no more;
Were she as just and true to Me,
Ah, simple soul, what would become of Thee!

Against Hope.

1

Hope , whose weak Being ruin'd is,
Alike if it succeed, and if it miss;
Whom Good or Ill does equally confound,
And both the Horns of Fates Dilemma wound.
Vain shadow! which dost vanish quite,
Both at full Noon, and perfect Night!
The Stars have not a possibility
Of blessing Thee;
If things then from their End we happy call,
'Tis Hope is the most Hopeless thing of all.

2

Hope, thou bold Taster of Delight,
Who whilst thou shouldst but tast, devour'st it quite!
Thou bringst us an Estate, yet leav'st us Poor,
By clogging it with Legacies before!
The Joys which we entire should wed,
Come deflowr'd Virgins to our bed;

110

Good fortunes without gain imported be,
Such mighty Custom's paid to Thee.
For Joy, like Wine, kept close does better tast;
If it take air before, its spirits wast.

3

Hope, Fortunes cheating Lottery!
Where for one prize an hundred blanks there be;
Fond Archer, Hope, who tak'st thy aim so far,
That still or short, or wide thine arrows are!
Thin, empty Cloud, which th'eye deceives
With shapes that our own Fancy gives!
A Cloud, which gilt and painted now appears,
But must drop presently in tears!
When thy false beams o're Reasons light prevail,
By Ignes fatui for North-Stars we sail.

4

Brother of Fear, more gaily clad!
The merr'ier Fool o'th' two, yet quite as Mad:
Sire of Repentance, Child of fond Desire!
That blow'st the Chymicks, and the Lovers fire!
Leading them still insensibly 'on
By the strange witchcraft of Anon!
By Thee the one does changing Nature through
Her endless Labyrinths pursue,
And th'other chases Woman, whilst She goes
More ways and turns than hunted Nature knows.

For Hope.

1

Hope , of all Ills that men endure,
The only cheap and Universal Cure!
Thou Captives freedom, and Thou sick Mans Health!
Thou Losers Victo'ry, and thou Beggars wealth!
Thou Manna, which from Heav'n we eat,
To every Tast a several Meat!
Thou strong Retreat! thou sure entail'd Estate,
Which nought has power to alienate!
Thou pleasant, honest Flatterer! for none
Flatter unhappy Men, but thou alone!

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2

Hope, thou First-fruits of Happiness!
Thou gentle Dawning of a bright Success!
Thou good Prepar'ative, without which our Joy
Does work too strong, and whilst it cures, destroy;
Who out of Fortunes reach dost stand,
And art a blessing still in hand!
Whilst Thee, her Earnest-Money we retain,
We certain are to gain,
Whether she'her bargain break, or else fulfill;
Thou only good, not worse, for ending ill!

3

Brother of Faith, 'twixt whom and Thee
The joys of Heav'en and Earth divided be!
Though Faith be Heir, and have the fixt estate,
Thy Portion yet in Moveables is great.
Happiness it self's all one
In Thee, or in possession!
Only the Future's Thine, the present His!
Thine's the more hard and noble bliss;
Best apprehender of our joys, which hast
So long a reach, and yet canst hold so fast!

4

Hope, thou sad Lovers only Friend!
Thou Way that mayst dispute it with the End!
For Love I fear's a fruit that does delight
The Tast it self less than the Smell and Sight.
Fruition more deceitful is
Than Thou canst be, when thou dost miss;
Men leave thee by obtaining, and strait flee
Some other way again to Thee;
And that's a pleasant Country, without doubt,
To which all soon return that travel out.

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Loves Ingratitude.

1

I little thought, thou fond ingrateful Sin,
When first I let thee in,
And gave thee but a part
In my unwary Heart,
That thou wouldst e're have grown,
So false or strong to make it all thine own.

2

At mine own breast with care I fed thee still,
Letting thee suck thy fill,
And daintily I nourisht Thee
With Idle thoughts and Poetrie!
What ill returns dost thou allow?
I fed thee then, and thou dost starve me now.

3

There was a time, when thou wast cold and chill,
Nor hadst the power of doing ill;
Into my bosom did I take,
This frozen and benummed Snake,
Not fearing from it any harm;
But now it stings that breast which made it warm.

4

What cursed weed's this Love! but one grain sow,
And the whole field 'twill overgrow;
Strait will it choak up and devour
Each wholesome herb and beauteous flour!
Nay unless something soon I do,
'Twill kill I fear my very Lawrel too.

5

But now all's gone, I now, alas, complain,
Declare, protest, and threat in vain.
Since by my own unforc'd consent,
The Traytor has my Government,
And is so settled in the Throne,
That 'twere Rebellion now to claim mine own.

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The Frailty.

1

I know 'tis sordid, and 'tis low;
(All this as well as you I know)
Which I so hotly now pursue;
(I know all this as well as you)
But whilst this cursed flesh I bear,
And all the Weakness, and the Baseness there,
Alas, alas, it will be always so.

2

In vain, exceedingly in vain
I rage sometimes, and bite my Chain;
For to what purpose do I bite
With Teeth which ne're will break it quite?
For if the chiefest Christian Head,
Was by this sturdy Tyrant buffeted,
What wonder is it, if weak I be slain?

Coldness.

1

As water fluid is, till it do grow
Solid and fixt by Cold;
So in warm Seasons Love does loosely flow,
Frost only can it hold.
A Womans rigour, and disdain,
Does his swift course restrain.

2

Though constant, and consistent now it be,
Yet, when kind beams appear,
It melts, and glides apace into the Sea,
And loses it self there.
So the Suns amorous play,
Kisses the Ice away.

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3

You may in Vulgar Loves find always this;
But my Substantial Love
Of a more firm, and perfect Nature is;
No weathers can it move:
Though Heat dissolve the Ice again,
The Chrystal solid does remain.

[Then like some wealthy Island thou shalt ly]

1

Then like some wealthy Island thou shalt ly;
And like the Sea about it, I;
Thou like fair Albion, to the Sailors Sight,
Spreading her beauteous Bosom all in White:
Like the kind Ocean I will be,
With loving Arms for ever clasping Thee.

2

But I'll embrace Thee gentli'er far than so;
As their fresh Banks soft Rivers do,
Nor shall the proudest Planet boast a power
Of making my full Love to ebb one hour;
It never dry or low can prove,
Whilst thy unwasted Fountain feeds my Love.

3

Such Heat and Vigour shall our Kisses bear,
As if like Doves we' engendred there.
No bound nor rule my pleasures shall endure,
In Love there's none too much an Epicure.
Nought shall my hands or Lips controul;
I'll kiss Thee through, I'll kiss thy very Soul.

4

Yet nothing, but the Night our sports shall know;
Night that's both blind and silent too.
Alphæus found not a more secret trace,
His lov'd Sicanian Fountain to embrace,
Creeping so far beneath the Sea,
Than I will do t' enjoy, and feast on Thee.

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5

Men, out of Wisdom; Women, out of Pride,
The pleasant Thefts of Love do hide.
That may secure thee; but thou 'hast yet from Me
A more infallible Securitie.
For there's no danger I should tell
The Joys, which are to Me unspeakable.

Sleep.

1

In vain, thou drousie God, I thee invoak;
For thou, who dost from fumes arise,
Thou, who Mans Soul dost overshade
With a thick Cloud by Vapours made,
Canst have no power to shut his eyes,
Or passage of his Spi'rits to choak,
Whose flame's so pure, that it sends up no smoak.

2

Yet how do Tears but from some Vapours rise?
Tears, that bewinter all my Year?
The fate of Egypt I sustain,
And never feel the dew of Rain,
From Clouds which in the Head appear,
But all my too much Moysture ow,
To overflowings of the Heart below.

3

Thou, who dost Men (as Nights to Colours do)
Bring all to an Equality:
Come, thou just God, and equal me
A while to my disdainful She;
In that condition let me ly;
Till Love does the favour shew;
Love equals all a better way than You.

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4

Then never more shalt thou be'invokt by me;
Watchful as Spirits, and Gods I'll prove:
Let her but grant, and then will I,
Thee and thy Kinsman Death defy.
For betwixt Thee and them that love,
Never will an agreement be;
Thou scorn'st th' Unhappy; and the Happy, Thee.

Beauty.

1

Beauty , thou wild fantastick Ape,
Who dost in ev'ry Country change thy shape!
Here black, there brown, here tawny, and there white;
Thou Flatt'rer which compli'st with every sight!
Thou Babel which confound'st the Ey
With unintelligible variety!
Who hast no certain What, nor Where,
But vary'st still, and dost thy self declare
Inconstant, as thy she-Professors are.

2

Beauty, Loves Scene and Maskerade,
So gay by well-plac'd Lights, and Distance made;
False Coyn, with which th'Impostor cheats us still;
The Stamp and Colour good, but Metal ill!
Which Light, or Base we find, when we
Weigh by Enjoyment, and examine Thee!
For though thy Being be but show,
'Tis chiefly Night which men to Thee allow:
And chuse t'enjoy Thee, when Thou least art Thou.

3

Beauty, Thou active, passive Ill!
Which dy'st thy self as fast as thou dost kill!
Thou Tulip, who thy stock in paint dost waste,
Neither for Physick good, nor Smell, nor Tast.

117

Beauty, whose Flames but Meteors are,
Short-liv'd and low, though thou wouldst seem a Star,
Who dar'st not thine own Home descry,
Pretending to dwell richly in the Eye,
When thou, alas, dost in the Fancy lye.

4

Beauty, whose Conquests still are made
O're Hearts by Cowards kept, or else betray'd!
Weak Victor! who thy self destroy'd must be
When sickness storms, or Time besieges Thee!
Thou'unwholesome Thaw to frozen Age!
Thou strong wine, which youths Feaver dost enrage,
Thou Tyrant which leav'st no man free!
Thou subtle thief, from whom nought safe can be!
Thou Murth'rer which hast kill'd, & Devil which wouldst Damn me.

The Parting.

1

As Men in Groen-land left beheld the Sun
From their Horizon run;
And thought upon the sad half year
Of Cold and Darkness they must suffer there:

2

So on my parting Mistress did I look,
With such swoln eyes my farewel took;
Ah, my fair Star! said I;
Ah those blest Lands to which bright Thou dost fly!

3

In vain the Men of Learning comfort me;
And say I'm in a warm degree;
Say what they please; I say and swear
'Tis beyond eighty at least, if you're not here.

118

4

It is, it is; I tremble with the Frost,
And know that I the Day have lost;
And those wild things which Men they call,
I find to be but Bears or Foxes all.

5

Return, return, gay Planet of mine East,
Of all that shines Thou much the Best!
And as thou now descend'st to Sea;
More fair and fresh rise up from thence to Me.

6

Thou, who in many a Propriety,
So truly art the Sun to Me,
Adde one more likeness, which I'm sure you can,
And let Me and my Sun beget a Man.

My Picture.

1

Here, take my Likeness with you, whilst 'tis so;
For when from hence you go,
The next Suns rising will behold
Me pale, and lean, and old.
The Man who did this Picture draw,
Will swear next day my face he never saw.

2

I really believe, within a while,
If you upon this shadow smile,
Your presence will such vigour give,
(Your presence which makes all things live)
And absence so much alter Me,
This will the substance, I the shadow be.

119

3

When from your well-wrought Cabinet you take it,
And your bright looks awake it;
Ah be not frighted, if you see,
The new-soul'd Picture gaze on Thee,
And hear it breath a sigh or two;
For those are the first things that it will do.

4

My Rival-Image will be then thought blest,
And laugh at me as dispossest;
But Thou, who (if I know thee right)
I'th' substance dost not much delight,
Wilt rather send again for Me,
Who then shall but my Pictures Picture be.

The Concealment.

1

No; to what purpose should I speak?
No, wretched Heart, swell till you break!
She cannot love me if she would;
And to say truth, 'twere pity that she should.
No, to the Grave thy sorrows bear,
As silent, as they will be there:
Since that lov'd hand this mortal wound does give,
So handsomly the thing contrive,
That she may guiltless of it live.
So perish, that her killing Thee
May a Chance-Medley, and no Murther be.

2

'Tis nobler much for me, that I
By'her Beauty, not her Anger dy;
This will look justly, and become
An Execution; that, a Martyrdome.
The censuring world will ne're refrain
From judging men by Thunder slain.

120

She must be angry sure, if I should be
So bold to ask her to make me
By being hers, happ'ier than She.
I will not; 'tis a milder fate
To fall by her not Loving, than her Hate.

3

And yet this death of mine, I fear,
Will ominous to her appear:
When, sound in every other part,
Her Sacrifice is found without an Heart.
For the last Tempest of my death
Shall sigh out that too, with my breath.
Then shall the world my noble ruine see,
Some pity, and some envy Me,
Then She her self, the mighty She,
Shall grace my fun'rals with this truth;
'Twas only Love destroy'd the gentle Youth.

The Monopoly.

1

What Mines of Sulphur in my breast do ly,
That feed th' eternal burnings of my heart?
Not Ætna flames more fierce or constantly,
The sounding shop of Vulcans smoaky art;
Vulcan his shop has placed there,
And Cupids Forge is set up here.

2

Here all those Arrows mortal Heads are made,
That flye so thick unseen through yielding air;
The Cyclops here, which labour at the trade
Are Jealousie, Fear, Sadness, and Despair.
Ah cruel God! and why to me
Gave you this curst Monopolie?

121

3

I have the trouble, not the gains of it;
Give me but the disposal of one Dart;
And then (I'll ask no other benefit)
Heat as you please your furnace in my Heart.
So sweet's Revenge to me, that I
Upon my foe would gladly dy.

4

Deep into'her bosom would I strike the dart;
Deeper than Woman e're was struck by Thee;
Thou giv'st them small wounds, and so far from th'Heart,
They flutter still about, inconstantly,
Curse on thy Goodness, whom we find
Civil to none but Woman-kind!

5

Vain God! who women dost thy self adore!
Their wounded Hearts do still retain the powers
To travel, and to wander as before;
Thy broken Arrows 'twixt that sex and ours
So 'unjustly are distributed;
They take the Feathers, we the Head.

The Distance.

1

I'have followed thee a year at least,
And never stopt my self to rest.
But yet can thee o'retake no more,
Than this Day can the Day that went before.

2

In this our fortunes equal prove
To Stars, which govern them above;
Our Stars that move for ever round,
With the same Distance still betwixt them found.

122

3

In vain, alas, in vain I strive
The wheel of Fate faster to drive;
Since if a round it swiftlier fly
She in it mends her pace as much as I.

4

Hearts by Love, strangely shuffled are,
That there can never meet a Pare!
Tamelier than Worms are Lovers slain;
The wounded Heart ne're turns to wound again.

The Encrease.

1

I thought, I'll swear, I could have lov'd no more
Then I had done before;
But you as easi'ly might account
'Till to the top of Numbers you amount,
As cast up my Loves score.
Ten thousand millions was the sum;
Millions of endless Millions are to come.

2

I'm sure her Beauties cannot greater grow;
Why should my Love do so?
A real cause at first did move;
But mine own Fancy now drives on my Love,
With shadows from it self that flow.
My Love, as we in Numbers see,
By Cyphers is encreast eternallie.

3

So the new-made, and untride Spheres above,
Took their first turn from th' hand of Jove;
But are since that beginning found
By their own Forms to move for ever round.
All violent Motions short do prove,
But by the length 'tis plain to see
That Love's a Motion Natural to Me.

123

Loves Visibility.

1

With much of pain, and all the Art I knew
Have I endeavour'd hitherto
To hide my Love, and yet all will not do.

2

The world perceives it, and it may be, she;
Though so discreet and good she be,
By hiding it, to teach that skill to Me.

3

Men without Love have oft so cunning grown,
That something like it they have shown,
But none who had it ever seem'd t'have none.

4

Love's of a strangely open, simple kind,
Can no arts or disguises find,
But thinks none sees it 'cause it self is blind.

5

The very Eye betrays our inward smart;
Love of himself left there a part,
When thorow it he past into the Heart.

6

Or if by chance the Face betray not it,
But keep the secret wisely, yet,
Like Drunkenness, into the Tongue t'will get.

Looking on, and discoursing with his Mistress.

1

These full two hours now have I gazing been,
What comfort by it can I gain?
To look on Heav'en with mighty Gulfs between
Was the great Misers greatest pain;
So neer was he to Heavens delight,
As with the blest converse he might,
Yet could not get one drop of water by't.

124

2

Ah wretch! I seem to touch her now; but, oh,
What boundless spaces do us part?
Fortune, and Friends, and all earths empty show
My Lowness, and her high Desert:
But these might conquerable prove;
Nothing does me so far remove,
As her hard Souls aversion from my Love.

3

So Travellers, that lose their way by night,
If from afar they chance t'espy
Th' uncertain glimmerings of a Tapers light,
Take flattering hopes, and think it nigh;
Till wearied with the fruitless pain,
They sit them down, and weep in vain,
And there in Darkness and Despair remain.

Resolved to Love.

1

I wonder what the Grave and Wise
Think of all us that Love;
Whether our Pretty Fooleries
Their Mirth or Anger move;
They understand not Breath, that Words does want;
Our Sighs to them are unsignificant.

2

One of them saw me th' other day,
Touch the dear hand, which I admire;
My Soul was melting strait away,
And dropt before the Fire.
This silly Wiseman, who pretends to know,
Askt why I look'd so pale, and trembled so?

125

3

Another from my Mistress' dore
Saw me with eyes all watry come;
Nor could the hidden cause explore,
But thought some smoak was in the room;
Such Ign'orance from unwounded Learning came;
He knew Tears made by Smoak, but not by Flame.

4

If learn'd in other things you be,
And have in Love no skill,
For Gods sake keep your arts from me,
For I'll be ign'orant still.
Study or Action others may embrace;
My Love's my Business, and my Books her Face.

5

These are but Trifles, I confess,
Which me, weak Mortal, move;
Nor is your busie Seriousness
Less trifling than my Love.
The wisest King who from his sacred brest
Pronounc'd all Van'ity, chose it for the best.

My Fate.

1

Go bid the Needle his dear North forsake,
To which with trembling rev'erence it does bend;
Go bid the Stones a journey upwards make;
Go bid th' ambitious Flame no more ascend:
And when these false to their old Motions prove,
Then shall I cease Thee, Thee alone to Love.

126

2

The fast-link'd Chain of everlasting Fate
Does nothing tye more strong, than Me to You;
My fixt Love hangs not on your Love or Hate;
But will be still the same, what e're you do.
You cannot kill my Love with your disdain,
Wound it you may, and make it live in pain.

3

Me, mine example let the Stoicks use,
Their sad and cruel doctrine to maintain,
Let all Prædestinators me produce,
Who struggle with eternal bonds in vain.
This Fire I'm born to, but 'tis she must tell,
Whether't be Beams of Heav'en, or Flames of Hell.

4

You, who mens fortunes in their faces read,
To find out mine, look not, alas, on Me;
But mark her Face, and all the features heed;
For only there is writ my Destiny.
Or if Stars shew it, gaze not on the Skies;
But study the Astrol'ogy of her Eyes.

5

If thou find there kind and propitious rays,
What Mars or Saturn threaten I'll not fear;
I well believe the Fate of mortal days
Is writ in Heav'en; but, oh my heav'en is there.
What can men learn from stars they scarce can see?
Two great Lights rule the world; and her two, Me.

The Heart-breaking.

1

It gave a piteous groan, and so it broke;
In vain it something would have spoke:
The Love within too strong for't was,
Like Poyson put into a Venice-Glass.

127

2

I thought that this some Remedy might prove,
But, oh, the mighty Serpent Love,
Cut by this chance in pieces small,
In all still liv'd, and still it stung in all.

3

And now (alas) each little broken part
Feels the whole pain of all my Heart:
And every smallest corner still
Lives with that torment which the Whole did kill.

4

Even so rude Armies when the field they quit,
And into several Quarters get;
Each Troop does spoil and ruine more,
Then all joyn'd in one Body did before.

5

How many Loves raign in my bosom now?
How many Loves, yet all of you?
Thus have I chang'd with evil fate
My Monarch-Love into a Tyrant-State.

The Usurpation.

1

Thou hadst to my Soul no title or pretence;
I was mine own, and free,
Till I had giv'n my self to Thee;
But thou hast kept me Slave and Prisoner since.
Well, since so insolent thou'rt grown,
Fond Tyrant, I'll depose thee from thy Throne;
Such outrages must not admitted be
In an Elective Monarchy.

128

2

Part of my Heart by Gift did to Thee fall;
My Country, Kindred, and my best
Acquaintance were to share the rest;
But thou, their Cov'etous Neighbour, drav'est out all:
Nay more; thou mak'st me worship Thee,
And would'st the rule of my Religion be;
Was ever Tyrant claim'd such power as you,
To be both Emp'rour, and Pope too?

3

The publick Mise'ries, and my private fate
Deserve some tears: but greedy Thou
(Insatiate Maid!) wilt not allow
That I one drop from thee should alienate.
Nor wilt thou grant my sins a part,
Though the sole cause of most of them thou art,
Counting my Tears thy Tribute and thy Due,
Since first mine Eyes I gave to You.

4

Thou all my Joys and all my Hopes dost claim,
Thou ragest like a Fire in me,
Converting all things into Thee;
Nought can resist, or not encrease the Flame.
Nay every Grief and every Fear,
Thou dost devour, unless thy stamp it bear.
Thy presence, like the crowned Basilisks breath,
All other Serpents puts to death.

5

As men in Hell are from Diseases free,
So from all other ills am I;
Free from their known Formality:
But all pains Eminently lye in Thee:
Alas, alas, I hope in vain
My conquer'd Soul from out thine hands to gain.
Since all the Natives there thou'st overthrown,
And planted Gar'isons of thine own.

129

Maidenhead.

1

Thou worst estate even of the sex that's worst;
Therefore by Nature made at first,
T'attend the weakness of our birth!
Slight, outward Curtain to the Nuptial Bed!
Thou Case to buildings not yet finished!
Who like the Center of the Earth,
Dost heaviest things attract to thee,
Though Thou a point imaginary be.

2

A thing God thought for Mankind so unfit,
That his first Blessing ruin'd it.
Cold forzen Nurse of fiercest fires!
Who, like the parched plains of Africks sand,
(A steril, and a wild unlovely Land)
Art always scortcht with hot desires,
Yet barren quite, didst thou not bring
Monsters and Serpents forth thy self to sting!

3

Thou that bewitchest men, whilst thou dost dwell
Like a close Conj'urer in his Cell!
And fear'st the days discovering Eye!
No wonder 'tis at all that thou shouldst be
Such tedious and unpleasant Company,
Who liv'st so Melancholily!
Thou thing of subtile, slippery kind,
Which Women lose, and yet no Man can find.

4

Although I think thou never found wilt be,
Yet I'm resolv'd to search for thee;
The search it self rewards the pains.
So, though the Chymick his great secret miss,
(For neither it in Art nor Nature is)
Yet things well worth his toyle he gains:
And does his Charge and Labour pay
With good unsought exper'iments by the way.

130

5

Say what thou wilt, Chastity is no more,
Thee, than a Porter is his Door.
In vain to honour they pretend,
Who guard themselves with Ramparts and with Walls,
Them only fame the truly valiant calls,
Who can an open breach defend.
Of thy quick loss can be no doubt,
Within so Hated, and so Lov'd without.

Impossibilities.

1

Impossibilities ? oh no, there's none;
Could mine bring thy Heart Captive home;
As easi'ly other dangers were o'rethrown,
As Cæsar after vanquisht Rome,
His little Asian foes did overcome.

2

True Lovers oft by Fortune are envy'd,
Oft Earth and Hell against them strive;
But Providence engages on their side,
And a good end at last does give;
At last Just Men and Lovers always thrive.

3

As stars (not powerful else) when they conjoin,
Change, as they please, the Worlds estate;
So thy Heart in Conjunction with mine,
Shall our own fortunes regulate;
And to our Stars themselves prescribe a Fate.

4

'Twould grieve me much to find some bold Romance,
That should two kind examples shew,
Which before us in wonders did advance;
Not, that I thought that story true,
But none should Fancy more, then I would Do.

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5

Through spight of our worst Enemies, thy Friends,
Through Local Banishment from Thee;
Through the loud thoughts of less-concerning Ends,
As easie shall my passage be,
As was the Amo'rous Youth's o're Helles Sea.

6

In vain the Winds, in vain the Billows rore;
In vain the Stars their aid deny'd:
He saw the Sestian Tower on th'other shore;
Shall th' Hellespont our Loves divide?
No, not th' Atlantick Oceans boundless Tide.

7

Such Seas betwixt us eas'ly conquer'd are;
But, gentle Maid, do not deny
To let thy Beams shine on me from afar;
And still the Taper let me 'espy:
For when thy Light goes out, I sink and dye.

Silence.

1

Curse on this Tongue, that has my Heart betray'd,
And his great Secret open laid!
For of all persons chiefly She,
Should not the ills I suffer know;
Since 'tis a thing might dang'rous grow,
Only in Her to Pity Me:
Since 'tis for Me to lose my Life more fit,
Than 'tis for Her to save and ransome it.

2

Ah, never more shall thy unwilling ear
My helpless story hear.
Discourse and talk awake does keep
The rude unquiet pain,
That in my Breast does raign;
Silence perhaps may make it sleep:
I'll bind that Sore up, I did ill reveal;
The Wound, if once it Close, may chance to Heal.

132

3

No, 'twill ne're heal; my Love will never dye,
Though it should speechless lye.
A River, e're it meet the Sea,
As well might stay its source,
As my Love can his course,
Unless it join and mix with Thee.
If any end or stop of it be found,
We know the Flood runs still, though under ground.

The Dissembler.

1

Unhurt , untoucht did I complain;
And terrifi'd all others with the pain:
But now I feel the mighty evil;
Ah, there's no fooling with the Devil!
So wanton men, whilst others they would fright,
Themselves have met a real Spright.

2

I thought, I'll swear, an handsome ly
Had been no sin at all in Poetry:
But now I suffer an Arrest,
For words were spoke by me in jest.
Dull, sottish God of Love, and can it be
Thou understand'st not Raillery?

3

Darts, and Wounds, and Flame, and Heat,
I nam'd but for the Rhime, or the Conceit.
Nor meant my Verse should raised be,
To this sad fame of Prophesie;
Truth gives a dull propriety to my stile,
And all the Metaphors does spoil.

4

In things, where Fancy much does reign,
'Tis dangerous too cunningly to feign.
The Play at last a Truth does grow,
And Custom into Nature go.
By this curst art of begging I became
Lame, with counterfeiting Lame.

133

5

My Lines of amorous desire
I wrote to kindle and blow others fire:
And 'twas a barbarous delight
My Fancy promis'd from the sight;
But now, by Love, the mighty Phalaris, I
My burning Bull the first do try.

The Inconstant.

1

I never yet could see that face
Which had no dart for me;
From fifteen years, to fifties space,
They all victorious be.
Love thou'rt a Devil; if I may call thee One,
For sure in Me thy name is Legion.

2

Colour, or Shape, good Limbs, or Face,
Goodness, or Wit in all I find.
In Motion or in Speech a grace,
If all fail, yet 'tis Woman-kind;
And I'm so weak, the Pistol need not be
Double, or treble charg'd to murder Me.

3

If Tall, the Name of Proper slays;
If Fair, she's pleasant as the Light;
If Low, her Prettiness does please;
If Black, what Lover loves not Night?
If Yellow-hair'd, I Love, lest it should be
Th' excuse to others for not loving Me.

4

The Fat, like Plenty, fills my heart;
The Lean, with Love makes me too so.
If Streight, her Body's Cupid's Dart
To me; if Crooked, 'tis his Bow.
Nay Age it self does me to rage encline,
And strength to Women gives, as well as Wine.

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5

Just half as large as Charity
My richly-landed Love's become;
And judg'd aright is Constancy,
Though it take up a larger room:
Him, who loves always one, why should they call
More Constant, than the Man loves Always All?

6

Thus with unwearied wings I flee
Through all Loves Gardens and his Fields;
And, like the wise, industrious Bee,
No Weed but Honey to me yields!
Honey still spent this dil'igence still supplies,
Though I return not home with laden Thighs.

7

My Soul at first indeed did prove
Of pretty strength against a Dart;
Till I this Habit got of Love;
But my consum'd and wasted Heart
Once burnt to Tinder with a strong Desire,
Since that by every Spark is set on Fire.

The Constant.

1

Great, and wise Conqu'rour, who where e're
Thou com'st, dost fortifie, and settle there!
Who canst defend as well as get;
And never hadst one Quarter beat up yet;
Now thou art in, Thou ne're wilt part
With one inch of my vanquisht Heart;
For since thou took'st it by assault from Me,
'Tis Garison'd so strong with Thoughts of Thee,
It fears no beauteous Enemy.

2

Had thy charming strength been less,
I'had serv'd e're this an hundred Mistresses.
I'm better thus, nor would compound
To leave my Pris'on to be a Vagabound.

135

A Pris'on in which I still would be,
Though every door stood ope to Me.
In spight both of thy Coldness and thy Pride,
All Love is Marriage on thy Lovers side,
For only Death can them divide.

3

Close, narrow Chain, yet soft and kind,
As that which Spi'rits above to good does bind,
Gentle, and sweet Necessity,
Which does not force, but guide our Liberty!
Your love on Me were spent in vain,
Since my Love still could but remain
Just as it is; for what, alas can be
Added to that which hath Infinity
Both in Extent and Quality?

Her Name.

1

With more than Jewish Reverence as yet
Do I the Sacred Name conceal;
When, ye kind Stars, ah when will it be fit
This Gentle Mystery to reveal?
when will our Love be Nam'd, and we possess
That Christning as a Badge of Happiness?

2

So bold as yet no Verse of mine has been,
To wear that Gem on any Line;
Nor, till the happy Nuptial Muse be seen,
Shall any Stanza with it shine.
Rest, mighty Name, till then; for thou must be
Laid down by Her, e're taken up by Me.

3

Then all the fields and woods shall with it ring;
Then Ecchoes burden it shall be;
Then all the Birds in sev'eral notes shall sing,
And all the Rivers murmur Thee;
Then ev'ery wind the Sound shall upwards bear,
And softly whisper't to some Angels Ear.

136

4

Then shall thy Name through all my Verse be spread,
Thick as the flowers in Meadows lye,
And, when in future times they shall be read,
(As sure, I think, they will not dye)
If any Critick doubt that They be mine,
Men by that Stamp shall quickly know the Coyn.

5

Mean while I will not dare to make a Name
To represent thee by;
Adam (Gods Nomenclator) could not frame
One that enough should signifie.
Astræa or Cælia as unfit would prove
For Thee, as 'tis to call the Deity, Jove.

Weeping.

1

See where she sits, and in what comely wise,
Drops Tears more fair then others Eyes!
Ah, charming Maid, let not ill Fortune see
Th'attire thy sorrow wears,
Nor know the beauty of thy Tears:
For shee'l still come to dress her self in Thee.

2

As stars reflect on waters, so I spy
In every drop (methinks) her Eye.
The Baby, which lives there, and alwayes plays
In that illustrious sphære,
Like a Narcissus does appear,
Whilst in his flood the lovely Boy did gaze.

3

Ne're yet did I behold so glorious weather,
As this Sun-shine and Rain together.
Pray Heav'en her Forehead, that pure Hill of snow,
(For some such Fountain we must find,
To waters of so fair a kind)
Melt not, to feed that beauteous stream below.

137

4

Ah, mighty Love, that it were inward Heat
Which made this precious Limbeck sweat!
But what, alas, ah what does it avail
That she weeps Tears so wondrous cold,
As scarce the Asses hoof can hold,
So cold, that I admire they fall not Hail.

Discretion.

1

Discreet ? what means this word Discreet?
A Curse on all Discretion!
This barbarous term you will not meet
In all Loves-Lexicon.

2

Joynture, Portion, Gold, Estate,
Houses, Houshold-stuff, or Land,
(The Low Conveniences of Fate)
Are Greek no Lovers understand.

3

Believe me, beauteous one, when Love
Enters into a brest,
The two first things it does remove,
Are Friends and Interest.

4

Passion's half blind, nor can endure
The careful, scrup'lous Eyes,
Or else I could not love, I'm sure,
One who in Love were wise.

5

Men, in such tempests tost about,
Will without grief or pain,
Cast all their goods and riches out,
Themselves their Port to gain.

138

6

As well might Martyrs, who do choose,
That sacred Death to take,
Mourn for the Clothes which they must lose,
When they're bound naked to the Stake.

The Waiting-Maid.

1.

Thy Maid? ah, find some nobler theame
Whereon thy doubts to place;
Nor by a low suspect blaspheme
The glories of thy face.

2.

Alas, she makes Thee shine so fair,
So exquisitely bright,
That her dim Lamp must disappear
Before thy potent Light.

3.

Three hours each morn in dressing Thee,
Maliciously are spent;
And make that Beauty Tyranny,
That's else a Civil Government.

4.

The'adorning thee with so much art,
Is but a barb'arous skill;
'Tis like the poys'oning of a Dart
Too apt before to kill.

5.

The Min'istring Angels none can see;
'Tis not their beauty'or face,
For which by men they worshipt be;
But their high Office and their place.
Thou art my Goddess, my Saint, She;
I pray to Her, only to pray to Thee.

139

Counsel.

1

Ah! what advice can I receive?
No, satisfie me first;
For who would Physick-potions give
To one that dyes with Thirst?

2

A little puff of breath we find,
Small fires can quench and kill;
But when they're great, the adverse wind
Does make them greater still.

3

Now whilst you speak, it moves me much;
But strait I'm just the same;
Alas, th'effect must needs be such
Of Cutting through a Flame.

The Cure.

1.

Come, Doctor, use thy roughest art,
Thou canst not cruel prove;
Cut, burn, and torture every part,
To heal me of my Love.

2.

There is no danger, if the pain
Should me to 'a Feaver bring;
Compar'd with Heats I now sustain,
A Feaver is so Cool a thing,
(Like drink which feaverish men desire)
That I should hope 'twould almost quench my Fire.

140

The Separation.

1

Ask me not what my Love shall do or be
(Love which is Soul to Body, and Soul of Me)
When I am sep'arated from thee;
Alas, I might as easily show,
What after Death the Soul will do;
'Twill last, I'm sure, and that is all we know.

2

The thing call'd Soul will never stir nor move,
But all that while a liveless Carkass prove,
For 'tis the Body of my Love;
Not that my Love will fly away,
But still continue, as, they say,
Sad troubled Ghosts about their Graves do stray.

The Tree.

1

I chose the flouri'shingst Tree in all the Park,
With freshest Boughs, and fairest head;
I cut my Love into his gentle Bark,
And in three days, behold, 'tis dead;
My very written flames so vi'olent be
They'have burnt and wither'd up the Tree:

2

How should I live my self, whose Heart is found
Deeply graven every where
With the large History of many a wound,
Larger than thy Trunk can bear?
With art as strange, as Homer in the Nut,
Love in my Heart has Volumes put.

3

What a few words from thy rich stock did take
The Leaves and Beauties all?
As a strong Poyson with one drop does make
The Nails and Hairs to fall:
Love (I see now) a kind of Witchcraft is,
Or Characters could ne're do this.

141

4

Pardon ye Birds and Nymphs who lov'd this Shade;
And pardon me, thou gentle Tree;
I thought her name would thee have happy made,
And blessed Omens hop'd from Thee;
Notes of my Love, thrive here (said I) and grow;
And with ye let my Love do so.

5

Alas poor youth, thy love will never thrive!
This blasted Tree Predestines it;
Go tye the dismal Knot (why shouldst thou live?)
And by the Lines thou there hast writ
Deform'dly hanging, the sad Picture be
To that unlucky History.

Her Unbelief.

1

'Tis a strange kind of Ign'orance this in you!
That you your Victories should not spy,
Victories gotten by your Eye!
That your bright Beams, as those of Comets do,
Should kill, but not know How, nor Who.

2

That truly you my Idol might appear,
Whilst all the People smell and see
The odorous flames, I offer thee,
Thou sit'st, and dost not see, nor smell, nor hear
Thy constant zealous worshipper.

3

They see't too well who at my fires repine,
Nay th' unconcern'd themselves do prove
Quick-Ey'd enough to spy my Love;
Nor does the Cause in thy Face clearlier shine,
Then the Effect appears in mine.

142

4

Fair Infidel! by what unjust decree
Must I, who with such restless care
Would make this truth to thee appear,
Must I, who preach it, and pray for it, be
Damn'd by thy incredulitie?

5

I by thy Unbelief am guiltless slain;
O have but Faith, and then that you
May know that Faith for to be true,
It shall it self by 'a Miracle maintain,
And raise me from the Dead again.

6

Mean while my Hopes may seem to be o'rethrown;
But Lovers Hopes are full of Art,
And thus dispute, that since my heart
Though in thy Breast, yet is not by thee known,
Perhaps thou may'st not know thine Own.

The Gazers.

1

Come let's go on, where Love and Youth does call;
I've seen too much, if this be all.
Alas, how far more wealthy might I be
With a contented Ign'orant Povertie?
To shew such stores, and nothing grant,
Is to enrage and vex my want.
For Love to Dye an Infant's lesser ill,
Than to live long, yet live in Child-hood still.

2

We'have both sate gazing only hitherto,
As Man and Wife in Picture do.
The richest crop of Joy is still behind,
And He who only Sees, in Love is Blind.
So at first Pigmalion lov'd.
But th'Amour at last improv'd:
The Statue'it self at last a woman grew,
And so at last, my Dear, should you do too.

143

3

Beauty to man the greatest Torture is,
Unless it lead to farther bliss
Beyond the tyran'ous pleasures of the Eye.
It grows too serious a Crueltie,
Unless it Heal, as well as strike;
I would not, Salamander-like,
In scortching heats always to Live desire,
But like a Martyr, pass to Heav'en through Fire.

4

Mark how the lusty Sun salutes the Spring,
And gently kisses every thing.
His loving Beams unlock each maiden flower,
Search all the Treasures, all the Sweets devour:
Then on the earth with Bridegroom-Heat,
He does still new Flowers beget.
The Sun himself, although all Eye he be,
Can find in Love more Pleasure than to see.

The Incurable.

1

I try'd if Books would cure my Love, but found
Love made them Non-sense all.
I'apply'd Receipts of Business to my wound,
But stirring did the pain recall.

2

As well might men who in a Feaver fry,
Mathematique doubts debate,
As well might men, who mad in darkness ly,
Write the Dispatches of a State.

3

I try'd Devotion, Sermons, frequent Prayer,
But those did worse than useless prove;
For Pray'rs are turn'd to Sin in those who are
Out of Charity, or in Love.

144

4

I try'd in Wine to drown the mighty care;
But Wine, alas, was Oyl to th' fire.
Like Drunkards eyes, my troubled Fancy there
Did double the Desire.

5

I try'd what Mirth and Gayety would do,
And mixt with pleasant Companies;
My Mirth did graceless and insipid grow,
And 'bove a Clinch it could not rise.

6

Nay, God forgive me for't, at last I try'd
'Gainst this some new desire to stir,
And lov'd again, but 'twas where I espy'd
Some faint Resemblances of Her.

7

The Physick made me worse with which I strove
This Mortal Ill t'expell,
As wholesome Med'icines the Disease improve,
There where they work not well.

Honour.

1

She Loves, and she confesses too;
There's then at last, no more to do.
The happy work's entirely done;
Enter the Town which thou hast won;
The Fruits of Conquest now begin;
Iô Triumph! Enter in.

2

What's this, ye Gods, what can it be?
Remains there still an Enemie?
Bold Honour stands up in the Gate,
And would yet Capitulate;
Have I o'recome all real foes,
And shall this Phantome me oppose?

145

3

Noisy Nothing! stalking Shade!
By what Witchcraft wert thou made?
Empty cause of Solid harms!
But I shall find out Counter-charms
Thy airy Devi'lship to remove
From this Circle here of Love.

4

Sure I shall rid my self of Thee
By the Nights obscurity,
And obscurer secresie.
Unlike to every other spright,
Thou attempt'st not men t'affright,
Nor appear'st but in the Light.

The Innocent Ill.

1

Though all thy gestures and discourses be
Coyn'd and stamp't by Modestie,
Though from thy Tongue ne're slipt away
One word which Nuns at th' Altar might not say,
Yet such a sweetness, such a grace
In all thy speech appear,
That what to th' Eye a beauteous face,
That thy Tongue is to th' Ear.
So cunningly it wounds the heart,
It strikes such heat through every part,
That thou a Tempter worse than Satan art.

2

Though in thy thoughts scarce any Tracks have bin
So much as of Original Sin,
Such charms thy Beauty wears as might
Desires in dying confest Saints excite.

146

Thou with strange Adulterie
Dost in each breast a Brothel keep;
Awake all men do lust for thee,
And some enjoy Thee when they sleep.
Ne're before did Woman live,
Who to such Multitudes did give
The Root and cause of Sin, but only Eve.

3

Though in thy breast so quick a Pity be,
That a Flies Death's a wound to thee.
Though savage, and rock-hearted those
Appear, that weep not ev'en Romances woes.
Yet ne're before was Tyrant known,
Whose rage was of so large extent,
The ills thou dost are whole thine own,
Thou'rt Principal and Instrument,
In all the deaths that come from you,
You do the treble Office do
Of Judge, of Tort'urer, and of Weapon too.

4

Thou lovely Instrument of angry Fate,
Which God did for our faults create!
Thou Pleasant, Universal Ill,
Which sweet as Health, yet like a Plague dost kill!
Thou kind, well-natur'ed Tyrannie!
Thou chast committer of a Rape!
Thou voluntary Destinie,
Which no man Can, or Would escape!
So gentle, and so glad to spare,
So wondrous good, and wondrous fair,
(We know) e'ven the Destroying Angels are.

147

DIALOGUE.

She.
What have we done? what cruel passion mov'd thee,
Thus to ruine her that lov'd Thee?
Me thou'hast robb'ed, but what art thou
Thy Self the richer now?
Shame succeeds the short-liv'd pleasure;
So soon is spent, and gone, this thy Ill-gotten Treasure.

He.
We'have done no harm; nor was it Theft in me,
But noblest Charity in Thee.
I'll the well-gotten Pleasure
Safe in my Mem'ory Treasure;
What though the Flower it self do wast,
The Essence from it drawn does long and sweeter last.

She.
No: I'm undone; my Honour Thou hast slain,
And nothing can restore't again.
Art and Labour to bestow,
Upon the Carcase of it now,
Is but t'embalm a body dead,
The Figure may remain, the Life and Beauty's fled.

He.
Never, my dear, was Honour yet undone,
By Love, but Indiscretion.
To th' wise it all things does allow;
And cares not What we do; but How.
Like Tapers shut in ancient Urns,
Unless it let in air, for ever shines and burns.

She.
Thou first perhaps who didst the fault commit,
Wilt make thy wicked boast of it.
For Men, with Roman pride, above
The Conquest, do the Triumph love:
Nor think a perfect Victo'ry gain'd,
Unless they through the streets their Captive lead enchain'd.

148

[He.]
Who e're his secret joys has open laid,
The Baud to his own Wife is made.
Beside what boast is left for me,
Whose whole wealth's a Gift from Thee?
'Tis you the Conqu'erour are, 'tis you
Who have not only ta'ne, but bound, and gag'd me too.

[She.]
Though publick pun'ishment we escape, the Sin
Will rack and torture us within:
Guilt and Sin our bosom bears;
And though fair, yet the Fruit appears,
That Worm which now the Core does wast,
When long t'has gnaw'd within will break the skin at last.

[He.]
That Thirsty Drink, that Hungry Food I sought,
That wounded Balm, is all my fault.
And thou in pity didst apply,
The kind and only remedy:
The Cause absolves the Crime; since Me
So mighty Force did move, so mighty Goodness Thee.

[She.]
Curse on thine Arts! methinks I Hate thee now;
And yet I'm sure I love Thee too!
I'm angry, but my wrath will prove,
More Innocent than did thy Love.
Thou hast this day undone me quite;
Yet wilt undo me more should'st thou not come at night.

Verses lost upon a Wager.

1

As soon hereafter will I wagers lay,
'Gainst what an Oracle shall say,
Fool, that I was, to venture to deny
A Tongue so us'd to Victory!
A Tongue so blest by Nature and by Art,
That never yet it spoke but gain'd an Heart:

149

Though what you said, had not been true
If spoke by any else but you.
Your speech will govern Destiny,
And Fate will change rather than you should Ly.

2

'Tis true if Humane Reason were the Guide,
Reason, methinks, was on my side,
But that's a Guide, alas, we must resign,
When th' Authority's Divine.
She said, she said her self it would be so;
And I, bold unbeliever, answer'd No,
Never so justly sure before
Errour the name of Blindness bore,
For whatsoe're the Question be,
There's no man that has eyes would bet for Me.

3

If Truth it self (as other Angels do
When they descend to humane view)
In a Material Form would daign to shine,
'Twould imitate or borrow Thine,
So daz'eling bright, yet so transparent clear,
So well proportion'd would the parts appear;
Happy the eye which Truth could see
Cloath'd in a shape like Thee,
But happier far the eye
Which could thy shape naked like Truth espy!

4

Yet this lost wager costs me nothing more
Than what I ow'ed to thee before.
Who would not venture for that debt to play
Which He were bound howe're to pay?
If Nature gave me power to write in verse,
She gave it me thy praises to reherse.
Thy wondrous Beauty and Thy Wit
Has such a Sov'ereign Right to it,
That no Mans Muse for publique vent is free,
Till she has paid her Customs first to Thee.

150

Bathing in the River.

1

The fish around her crowded, as they do
To the false light that treach'erous Fishers shew,
And all with as much ease might taken be,
As she at first took me.
For ne're did Light so clear
Among the waves appear,
Though ev'ery night the Sun himself set there.

2

Why to Mute Fish should'st thou thy self discover,
And not to me thy no less silent Lover?
As some from Men their buried Gold commit
To Ghosts that have no use of it!
Half their rich treasures so
Maids bury; and for ought we know
(Poor Ignorants) they're Mermaids all below.

3

The amo'rous Waves would fain about her stay,
But still new am'orous waves drive them away,
And with swift current to those joys they haste,
That do as swiftly waste,
I laught the wanton play to view,
But 'tis, alas, at Land so too,
And still old Lovers yield the place to new.

4

Kiss her, and as you part, you am'orous Waves
(My happier Rivals, and my fellow slaves)
Point to your flowry banks, and to her shew
The good your Bounties do;
Then tell her what your Pride doth cost,
And, how your use and beauty's lost,
When rig'orous Winter binds you up with Frost.

151

5

Tell her, her Beauties and her Youth, like Thee
Haste without stop to a devouring Sea;
Where they will mixt and undistinguisht ly
With all the meanest things that dy.
As in the Ocean Thou
No priviledge dost know
Above th' impurest streams that thither flow.

6

Tell her, kind flood, when this has made her sad,
Tell her there's yet one Rem'edy to be had;
Shew her how thou, though long since past, dost find
Thy self yet still behind,
Marriage (say to her) will bring
About the self-same thing,
But she, fond Maid, shuts and seals up the spring.

Love given over.

1

It is enough; of time, and pain
Hast thou consum'd in vain;
Leave, wretched Cowley, leave
Thy self with shadows to deceive;
Think that already lost which thou must never gain.

2

Three of thy lustiest and thy freshest years,
(Tost in storms of Hopes and Fears)
Like helpless Ships that be
Set on fire i'th' midst o'the Sea,
Have all been burnt in Love, and all been drown'd in Tears.

3

Resolve then on it, and by force or art
Free thy unlucky Heart;
Since Fate does disapprove
Th' ambition of thy Love.
And not one Star in heav'n offers to take thy part.

152

4

If e're I clear my Heart from this desire,
If e're it home to its breast retire,
It ne're shall wander more about,
Though thousand beauties call'd it out:
A Lover Burnt like me for ever dreads the fire.

5

The Pox, the Plague, and ev'ry small disease,
May come as oft as ill Fate please;
But Death and Love are never found
To give a Second Wound,
We're by those Serpents bit, but we're devour'd by these.

6

Alas, what comfort is't that I am grown
Secure of be'ing again o'rethrown?
Since such an Enemy needs not fear
Lest any else should quarter there,
Who has not only Sack't, but quite burnt down the Town.

FINIS.