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Poems, Songs and Love-Verses

upon several Subjects. By Matthew Coppinger

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A Song.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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.
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.

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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.
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.