Poems Lyrique Macaronique Heroique :: :: University of Virginia Library

Be gon! Thou Fatal Feaver! from me, now be gone!
Let Love alone!
Let his Ætherial flames, possess my Breast!
The fires, of thy consuming heat, no ayd requires,
But swift Desires,
Transport my passions, to a Throne of Rest
Where I, who in the pride of health, could never feel,
Such warmth to move.
By Sickness tam'd,
A'm so Enflam'd,
I fee'le, noe joy, but Love.
And he, who trifled many tedious hours away
My Love to trye.
In little space,
Hath gain'd the Grace,
To have more power, then I.

106

B.
Away! you Grevious Things, call'd Mistresses away
Yeild Sack the Day!
Let her Diviner sparkes, in flame my Breast!
The hear, of whose Enlivening Virtue's so Compleat
That for the feat,
My fancy's carry'd, here to seat it's rest:
Where I, who in the height of Love, could never, find,
Such warmth to stirre.
By Sack in spird,
Am, now, so fir'd,
I joy in None, but Her:
And I, who have been Occupy'd, an hour, sometimes,
A Love, to Winne,
In lesser space,
Have gain'd the Grace,
To care not for't, a Pinne.

2.

Depart! Thou fatal Feaver from me, now Depart!
Think not my Heart
To thy dull flames, shall be a Sacrifice!
A Maid (Dread Cupid) now hath on the Altar laid,
By thee betraid,
A Rich Oblation, to restore thine Eyes:
But yet, my fore acknowledgment, shall testifie,
Thou hast no Craft,
To bend thy Bow,
Against a Foe,
That aim'd, to catch the shaft;

107

Nor did I fear, though at my Bosome, all at once,
Such Darts did move;
She that receives,
A thousand Sheaves,
She can no more, but Love.

B.
A F--- for all you Femal Creatures, now a F---
Ne're think my Heart,
In your Weak flames, shall burn a Sacrifice,
A Blade (god Bacchus!) here, hath at the Tavern had
Now by thee made,
A stronger Fire, to Blaze out his Eyes:
But yet, my late acknowledgment shall Justifie,
Thou hast no Craft,
My flames, to Drown,
When once, high flown,
With ne're so great a Draught:
Nor would I care, though for an Ocean, all at once,
My Guts had space,
He that Topes up,
The thousandth Cup!
He can no more but Blaze.

3.

No more Physitians, let me try your Brains! no more!
Pray give me o're!
I have a Cure, in Physick, never read;
Though you, as skillfull Doctors, all the world do know,
In Learning flow,
You may as well go practice on the Dead:

108

But, if my Gerard daigne, to view me, with
His Glorious Lookes
I make no doubt,
To Live without
Physitians, and their Books:
Tis he, who with his balmy Kisses, can restore
My latest breath,
What bliss is This!
To Gaine a Kiss,
And save, a Maid, from Death!

B.
No more; You Physickt Ladies! I'le your helps implore!
But give you o're!
I have a Cure, your Beauties, ne're did prove
Though you, have saving Virtues, Love sick Lovers know,
And tell you so,
Practice on those, that swear they'le dye for Love.
But if I view, Canaries sparkling Beauties,
In a Glass,
I Question not
The Going to pott,
'Spight of a Ladies Face:
'Tis she, who with her Sugard Kisses, can preserve
My failing Breath;
What bliss like this,
A Cup, to Kiss,
And save, a man from Death!

109

4.

To you (Divine ones of another world I bow,
And will allow,
Your sacred precepts, if you'l grant me this,
That He, whom I adore, ev'n next your Diety,
May go with me,
Without his presence, there can be no bliss:
Go teach your Tenents of Eternity, to those,
That aged be,
Do not perswade,
A Love sick Maid
There's any Heaven, but He:
But stay! methinks an Icy slumber doth possess
My weary'd Brain,
Pray bid him Dye,
If you think, I
Shall never Wake again.

B.
To you (Divines Beauties of the World!) I vow
I will allow,
Your sacred Titles, if you'l one thing prove!
That Sack whom I before you all, my Mistress make,
I may not Lacke,
Without her, there can be smal sport in Love
Go read your Lectures, of Sobriety, to those,
That Punyes be,
Do not perswade,
A Topeing Blade,
Such Drink's in Heaven, as She.

110

But stay! Methinks a giddy whimsey toxicates
my warmed Brain;
E'ne let me Dye,
If you think I,
Shall ne're Blaze up again.