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To my Friend EXILLUS,
on his persuading me to Marry Old Damon.
When Friends advice with Lovers forces joyn,They'll conquer Hearts more fortify'd than mine:
For mine lyes as it wont, without defence,
No Guard nor Art but its own innocence;
Under which Fort, it could fierce storms endure,
But from thy Wit I find no Fort secure.
Ah, why would'st thou assist my Enemy,
Who was himself almost too strong for me?
Thou with Idolatry mak'st me adore,
And homage do to the proud Conquerour.
Now round his Neck my willing Arms I'd twine,
And swear upon his Lips, My Dear, I'm thine,
But that his kindness then would grow, I fear,
Too weighty for my weak desert to bear.
I fear 'twou'd even to extreams improve,
And Jealousie, they say, 's th' extream of Love;
That after all my kindness to him shown,
My little Neddy, he'll not think't his own:
Ev'n thou my Dear Exillus he'll suspect,
If I but look on thee, I him neglect:
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But he'll mistrust She-friends and Heav'n too.
Thus best things may be turn'd to greatest harm,
As saying th' Lord's Prayer backward proves a charm.
Or if not thus, I'm sure he will despise,
Or under-rate the easie-gotten prize.
These and a thousand fears my Soul possess,
But most of all my own unworthiness;
Like dying Saints, I wish for coming joys,
But humble fears that forward wish destroys.
What shall I do then? hazard the event?
You say, Old Damon's, all that's excellent.
If I miss him, the next some Squire may prove,
Whose Dogs and Horses shall have all his love;
Or some debauch'd pretender to lewd wit,
Or covetous, conceited, unbred Citt.
Thus the brave Horse, who late i'th' Coach did neigh,
Is forc'd at last to tug a nasty Dray.
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