Poems Lyrique Macaronique Heroique | ||
125
For Fruition,
In Answer to Sir, John Suckling.
Pox on those hearts that singly freeze with cold
I Love two minds, that one opinion hold:
Were I to bless the better sort of men.
I'de wish them Loving, to be Lov'd agen.
Love Cormorant-like, on every pray doth fall:
And's hunger starv'd, where there is none at all
'Tis the Grand confidence, & mighty hope,
Unsheath'd of fear, with winter tears dry'd up,
That Love, takes pleasure in; That can be none,
That only dwels, in Contemplation:
Like drowsie Dreams at midnight, when all day,
Our Bodies have been weary'd, some strange way.
Oh! how 'twould irke me! sure I madd should go
Did I but hear my mistress, twice say no!
No thought our Expectation screw's so high,
But single! Woman soon can satisfie.
And what low-spirit, w'ont aspire, to that,
Which may be purchas'd, at so cheap a rate?
I Love two minds, that one opinion hold:
Were I to bless the better sort of men.
I'de wish them Loving, to be Lov'd agen.
Love Cormorant-like, on every pray doth fall:
And's hunger starv'd, where there is none at all
'Tis the Grand confidence, & mighty hope,
Unsheath'd of fear, with winter tears dry'd up,
That Love, takes pleasure in; That can be none,
That only dwels, in Contemplation:
Like drowsie Dreams at midnight, when all day,
Our Bodies have been weary'd, some strange way.
Oh! how 'twould irke me! sure I madd should go
Did I but hear my mistress, twice say no!
No thought our Expectation screw's so high,
But single! Woman soon can satisfie.
And what low-spirit, w'ont aspire, to that,
126
She's honest, that does yeild although Poor Fooll.
She be as hot as Summer, warm as Wooll.
He that hath mist her, has to say, at last,
'Ene pray who's will, if I must ever fast,
She be as hot as Summer, warm as Wooll.
He that hath mist her, has to say, at last,
'Ene pray who's will, if I must ever fast,
Then (fairest Ladies) use what nature gave
Never denying, what we ever, Crave
Confirming us that that's not strange at all,
Our Fathers did, we do, and Children shall.
Never denying, what we ever, Crave
Confirming us that that's not strange at all,
Our Fathers did, we do, and Children shall.
Poems Lyrique Macaronique Heroique | ||