Poems Lyrique Macaronique Heroique | ||
Another for Fruition,
In Answer to Sir, John Suckling.
Go on! Bold Boy! and put her to't be wise!
Not knowing how to keep lost paradise
The wicked plagues thou hast, wouldst ne're have cease?
But reign, at height! and would it not thee please
If, gently from night frights, for real joy,
Thou wert awakt? who sleeps, can ne're enjoy
Not knowing how to keep lost paradise
The wicked plagues thou hast, wouldst ne're have cease?
But reign, at height! and would it not thee please
If, gently from night frights, for real joy,
Thou wert awakt? who sleeps, can ne're enjoy
127
Not to enjoy, is worse, then not to have:
And that ne're cloyd, for wch we stil do crave
Who holds himself less happy, by that mean
Might hope, with as much reason, to wax lean
By feeding to the full; they purchas'd, once,
Oh how we relish it! and kiss for th'nonce!
And that ne're cloyd, for wch we stil do crave
Who holds himself less happy, by that mean
Might hope, with as much reason, to wax lean
By feeding to the full; they purchas'd, once,
Oh how we relish it! and kiss for th'nonce!
'Tis more then requisite, upon this score
The choicest thing that man does, is not more
The world is wide; of blessings it is one
To Multiply Come! Come! it must be done!
As sure as Drink! Each one's oblig'd unto't
“He that ne're Occupyes, wil ne're have fruit.
The choicest thing that man does, is not more
The world is wide; of blessings it is one
To Multiply Come! Come! it must be done!
As sure as Drink! Each one's oblig'd unto't
“He that ne're Occupyes, wil ne're have fruit.
Women enjoy'd (for they are none before)
Are like a fine Romance, read o're and o're:
Fruitions sprightful, & the play's not known,
What 'tis or is not till that act, be done:
To save our longing, that a blessing is,
“Heaven unknown, is a Fools Paradice.
Are like a fine Romance, read o're and o're:
Fruitions sprightful, & the play's not known,
What 'tis or is not till that act, be done:
To save our longing, that a blessing is,
“Heaven unknown, is a Fools Paradice.
And as in prospects, where the scrutimous eye
Unrandom'd can it self ne're satisfie,
And will not be confin'd, so Liberty.
Quickens that pleasure, which restrain'd would dye
He that hath store to tell must needs be rich,
He's only poor, that know's not, which is which.
Unrandom'd can it self ne're satisfie,
And will not be confin'd, so Liberty.
Quickens that pleasure, which restrain'd would dye
He that hath store to tell must needs be rich,
He's only poor, that know's not, which is which.
Poems Lyrique Macaronique Heroique | ||