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Pierides

or The Muses Mount. By Hugh Crompton
  

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70. The Quere.

Say, shall I love, or shall I leave her?
Shall I leave or love for ever?

95

Shall I part with my profession,
Or proceed in my progression?

Eccho.

Fall back, suspend thy love for ever;
Call home thy heart again and leave her:
Too much of one sort breeds lothing,
Makes the object fit for nothing;
Spoyls the fancy, spoils the sense,
Turns delight to penitence;
Specially in those that summon
Their wits to attend a woman.
Then refuse, fall off, and leave her,
Lest thou lose thy bliss for ever.
Having once engag'd thy credit,
You may curse that ere you did it;
For if beauty moved thee,
Per adventure that may flee:
Then that face which once was fire
To calcine, shall now expire
The Lamps of Zealots, and shall choke
Thy own sense with thy own smoke:
And you'l feel (in such a case)
Much disease, or much disgrace:
If you go your credits lost,
If you stay you will be crost.
Oh how dismal is't, for he,
All whose love formalitie
Props, or the affection, where
It dwells not for love but fear!
Then return, return and leave her,

96

Lest thou art a fool for ever.
What avails thy wanton courting?
Kissing, clipping, hugging, sporting,
Smiling, beckning, musing, glancing,
Winding, tripping, footing, dancing,
Chopping, changing, mingling words,
All the joy that love affords:
What art thou for this the better?
Only thou art made a debtor
For't. Although thy Mistress swims
Over the glorious Cherubims
In thy fancy, she'l not scorn
To salute thee with a horn
For thy requital: Such there be;
Then love not such vanity.
O return, return and leave her,
Else I'le say th' art mad for ever.
He's a fool that loves to be
Vassal'd, when he may be free.