Poems, Songs and Love-Verses | ||
A Song.
So strange a Distemper I ne're yet did know,
'Tis too strong to be call'd an Impotent Foe;
'Tis too weak to surprise and conquer my Breast,
Yet with sundry Alarms it oft does infest;
It roars and it rages, and makes such a do,
That though 'tis a Slave, 'twou'd be Conquerour too.
'Tis too strong to be call'd an Impotent Foe;
'Tis too weak to surprise and conquer my Breast,
Yet with sundry Alarms it oft does infest;
It roars and it rages, and makes such a do,
That though 'tis a Slave, 'twou'd be Conquerour too.
With a Courage more stout than Achilles slew Hector,
I swore, that no Passion shou'd be my Director;
Disdaining those Bonds that the Predicants wear,
My Soul is a Monarch as free as the Air.
When such puling Passions my Fancy discovers,
Like Physitians, I gain by the Sickness of others.
I swore, that no Passion shou'd be my Director;
Disdaining those Bonds that the Predicants wear,
My Soul is a Monarch as free as the Air.
When such puling Passions my Fancy discovers,
Like Physitians, I gain by the Sickness of others.
73
If Nature would shew me a Creature Divine,
I'd smile in her Face, and I'd swear she was mine:
I'd urge her with Pleasures, my glory shou'd move
Ten Millions of Cupids to inforce her to love.
I'd spare not one Kiss for the wealth of a Mine;
'Tis death for a Lord, if he touch but her Shrine.
I'd smile in her Face, and I'd swear she was mine:
I'd urge her with Pleasures, my glory shou'd move
Ten Millions of Cupids to inforce her to love.
I'd spare not one Kiss for the wealth of a Mine;
'Tis death for a Lord, if he touch but her Shrine.
Such Affection I bear to the Creature I love:
But if she were Heiress to thundering Jove,
And full of disdain, I defie all her Charms,
As Heat repels Heat, and Arms repels Arms.
And rather then bear their scorn and their slight,
I'le worship the Owl, thê Queen of the Night.
But if she were Heiress to thundering Jove,
And full of disdain, I defie all her Charms,
As Heat repels Heat, and Arms repels Arms.
And rather then bear their scorn and their slight,
I'le worship the Owl, thê Queen of the Night.
Poems, Songs and Love-Verses | ||