Poems With the Muses Looking-Glasse. Amyntas. Jealous Lovers. Arystippus. By Tho: Randolph ... The fourth Edition enlarged [by Thomas Randolph] |
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Upon love fondly refus'd for conscience sake.
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Upon love fondly refus'd for conscience sake.
Nature, Creations law, is judg'd by sense,Not by the Tyrant conscience,
Then our commission gives us leave to do,
What youth and pleasure prompts us to:
For we must question, else heavens great decree,
And tax it with a treachery;
If things made sweet to tempt our appetite
Should with a guilt stain the delight.
Higher powers rule us, our selves can nothing do;
Who made us love, made'lawfull too.
It was not love, but love transform'd to vice
Ravish'd with envious Avarice,
Made women first impropriate; All were free,
Inclosures mens inventions be.
I'th golden age no action could be found
For trespasse on my neighbours ground:
Twas just with any Fair to mix our blood;
The best is most diffusive good.
She that confines her beams to one mans sight,
Is a dark-Lanthorn to a glorious light.
Say, does the Virgin-spring lesse chast appeare
Cause many thirsts are quenched there?
Or have you not with the same odours met,
When more have smelt your Violet?
The Phoenix is not angry at her nest,
Cause her perfumes make others blest:
Though Incense to th'eternall gods be meant,
Yet mortals Rivall in the sent.
Man is the Lord of Creatures, yet we see
That all his vassals loves are free.
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The Pard's inflam'd, and amorous mind;
But that he may be like a Bridegroom led
Even to the Royall Lions bed.
The birds may for a yeer their loves confine,
But make new choise each Valentine.
If our affections then more servile be
Then are our slaves, wher's mans soveraignty?
Why then by pleasing more, should you lesse please,
And spare the sweets, being more sweet then these?
If the fresh Trunk have sap enough to give
That each insertive branch may live;
The Gardner grafts not only Apples there,
But adds the VVarden and the Peare,
The Peach, and Apricock together grow,
The Cherrie and the Damson too,
Till he hath made by skilfull husbandry
An intire Orchard of one tree
So lest our Paradise perfection want,
VVe may as well inoculate as plant.
What's Conscience but a Beldams midnight theam?
Or nodding Nurses idle dream?
So feign'd, as are the Goblins, Elves, and Fairies,
To watch their Orchards, and their Daries.
For who can tell when first her reign begun?
I'th' state of innocence was none:
And since large Conscience (as the proverb shewes)
In the same sense with bad one goes,
The lesse the better then, whence this will fall,
'Tis to be perfect to have none at all.
Suppose it be a vertue rich, and pure,
'Tis not for Spring, or Summer sure,
Nor yet for Autumn? Love must have his prime,
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Till we have flourish'd, grown, and reap'd our wishes;
What Conscience dares oppose our kisses?
But when times colder hand leads us near home,
Then let that winter vertue come:
Frost is all then prodigious, we may do
What youth and pleasure prompts us to.
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