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Poems, Songs and Love-Verses

upon several Subjects. By Matthew Coppinger

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The Surrender.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

The Surrender.

I yield, dear Enemy, nor now
Can I resist so sweet a Brow;
For who would not a slave remain,
On whom thou please to lay thy Chain?
For with such love thy Yoak I take,
As Martyrs that embrace a Stake.
Now since I own this great defeat,
Command thy Forces to retreat,
And vail those charming looks, from whence
My Ruine comes, by Innocence:
And since I yield my self your Slave,
Let Beauty, which the conquest gave,
Not triumph in the vanquisht foil,
Or glory in your Captives spoil.
The noble Lyon in his rage
Disdains his Forces to engage
Against a prostrate Worm, from whence
His vallour can have no pretence:
Such honours always did pursue
The Roman Valour as their due:

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And since that you have now put on
The Courage of an Amazon,
An Angels Beauty, such a form
May glorified Saints adorn;
May all their Vertues take a place
To grace thy Heart as well as Face,
And in thy Breast some pitty plant,
The only Good that thou dost want:
Thus shall my Chain more gentle prove,
Supported by the Wings of Love.
I love a Lass that will not wed,
Yet vallues not her Maiden-head;
That is not peevish, proud, nor poor,
That scorns the Title of a Whore;
That can both Dance, and Sing, and Quaff,
And, in what ever humour, Laugh;
Who swears by Fate, she'll not abuse
What Nature gives her leave to use;
Yet to a Friend will not be coy,
But give him leave for to enjoy
What he desires, so he'll conceal
Those hidden Pleasures which they steal.
She is not such as stand without,
And call to every rabble Rout,
Crying, Turn in, thou honest Fellow,
Until their------is grown so mellow,
That even the Pox would scorn to dwell
In such a loathsom nasty Cell.
A vengance take such Whores as these,
are far worse than the Disease;

109

I cannot guess but their descent
Was from some nasty Excrement;
Else cou'd they ne're infect the Earth
With Plagues, but from so base a Birth.