The last remains of Sr John Suckling Being a Full collection Of all his Poems and Letters which have been so long expected, and never till now Published, with The Licence and Approbation of his Noble and Dearest friends |
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Love's Representation.
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 | The last remains of Sr John Suckling |  |
Love's Representation.
Leaning her hand upon my Brest,There on Loves Bed she lay to rest;
My panting heart rock'd her asleep,
My heedful eyes the watch did keep,
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No hope to be his Harbinger,
Desire his rival, kept the door;
For this of him I begg'd no more,
But that, our Mistress to entertain,
Some pretty fancy he would frame,
And represent it in a dream,
Of which my self should give the Theam.
Then first these thoughts I bid him show,
Which onely he and I did know,
Arrayed in duty and respect,
And not in Fancies that reflect,
Then those of value next present,
Approv'd by all the World's consent;
But to distinguish mine asunder,
Apparell'd they must be in wonder.
Such a device then I would have,
As Service not reward should crave,
Attir'd in spotless Innocence,
Not self-respect, nor no pretence:
Then such a Faith I would have shown,
As heretofore was never known.
Cloth'd with a constant clear intent,
Professing always as it meant.
And if Love no such Garments have,
My minde a Wardrobe is so brave,
That there sufficient he may see
To cloath Impossibility.
Then beamy Fetters he shall finde;
By admiration subt'ly twin'd
That will keep fast the wanton'st thought,
That ere Imagination wrought:
There he shall finde of Joy a chain,
Fram'd by despair of her disdain,
So curiously that it can't tie
The smallest hopes that Thoughts now spie.
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Are by her veneration spun,
In one of which I would have brought
A pure unspotted abstract thought.
Considering her as she is good,
Not in her frame of Flesh and Blood.
These Attoms then, all in her sight
I bad him joyn, that so he might
Discern between true Loves Creation,
And that Loves form that's now in fashion.
Love granting unto my request
Began to labor in my Brest;
But with the motion he did make,
It heav'd so high that she did wake.
Blush'd at the favor she had done,
Then smil'd, and then away did run.
J. S.
| The last remains of Sr John Suckling | |