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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

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The vain Love.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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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?

82

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!