Men-Miracles With other Poemes. By M. LL. St [i.e.Martin Lluelyn] |
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On the Author of Love Melancholy. Second Edition.
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 | Men-Miracles |  |
On the Author of Love Melancholy. Second Edition.
Love
who till now was Loosenesse and hot flame,
Is here made Warmth, and joyes he is grown Tame.
The Wanton's sober here: this Artist brings,
The Boy as comely still, but clips his wings.
Looke on his Blushes, his cheekes modest fires,
There's the same Rose, onely 't hath lost the Briers,
He still his Ivory Bow, still keepes his Dart,
Shootes here too, but with Judgement and more Art:
He is not here call'd Lust or Amorous Staines,
As if the God ith' Shrine were Sinne ith' Veines.
Nor yet a perfect birth, he must not shine
Blind in his Mothers Armes, yet see in thine,
Thus th' Author judge 'twixt us and Cupid, He
Nor takes from Man, nor flatters Deity.
But like an Equall flame, doth light impart
To shew the Beauty, yet not hide the Wart,
For had hee made love good, and our desire
Without our Reason, and wills aw entire.
Then Virtue had beene Nature, and we bin
Good without praise, 'cause without Power to Sin.
Lucrece had lost the merit of her care,
Were she as easily chast, as she was faire.
Ice had beene rank'd with Virtue, and one Row
Had chronicled chast Virgins, and cold Snow.
Romanes that story Virgins free from sin
Had searcht their Gardens and put Lillies in.
Roses had then heard Modest, and one line
Made Vesta's blushes, and her Rubies joine.
And the dejected Goddesse weepe to see,
Her Chrystals pure, and innocent as she.
Is here made Warmth, and joyes he is grown Tame.
The Wanton's sober here: this Artist brings,
The Boy as comely still, but clips his wings.
Looke on his Blushes, his cheekes modest fires,
There's the same Rose, onely 't hath lost the Briers,
He still his Ivory Bow, still keepes his Dart,
Shootes here too, but with Judgement and more Art:
He is not here call'd Lust or Amorous Staines,
As if the God ith' Shrine were Sinne ith' Veines.
Nor yet a perfect birth, he must not shine
Blind in his Mothers Armes, yet see in thine,
Thus th' Author judge 'twixt us and Cupid, He
Nor takes from Man, nor flatters Deity.
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To shew the Beauty, yet not hide the Wart,
For had hee made love good, and our desire
Without our Reason, and wills aw entire.
Then Virtue had beene Nature, and we bin
Good without praise, 'cause without Power to Sin.
Lucrece had lost the merit of her care,
Were she as easily chast, as she was faire.
Ice had beene rank'd with Virtue, and one Row
Had chronicled chast Virgins, and cold Snow.
Romanes that story Virgins free from sin
Had searcht their Gardens and put Lillies in.
Roses had then heard Modest, and one line
Made Vesta's blushes, and her Rubies joine.
And the dejected Goddesse weepe to see,
Her Chrystals pure, and innocent as she.
No such Position then, for here our love
May be or that oth' Sparrow, or chast Dove.
The flames here drawne nor good nor bad, but are
Apt or to shine a Comet, or a Starre.
They are themselves indifferent, and may
Rise to a Raging Blaze, or Temp'rate Ray.
The Picture doubtfull like the Face may prove
In thy Breast either Devill, or God of love.
May be or that oth' Sparrow, or chast Dove.
The flames here drawne nor good nor bad, but are
Apt or to shine a Comet, or a Starre.
They are themselves indifferent, and may
Rise to a Raging Blaze, or Temp'rate Ray.
The Picture doubtfull like the Face may prove
In thy Breast either Devill, or God of love.
No Galen here that may confine the soule
To th' Temper, and call'd Vice when the Bodies foule,
Potions might so make honest men, and aw
Our crimes like Scarres, and Plaisters stand for law.
Feavers and lust were one, and both would heale,
By Julips, and men take Pils not to steale.
To th' Temper, and call'd Vice when the Bodies foule,
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Our crimes like Scarres, and Plaisters stand for law.
Feavers and lust were one, and both would heale,
By Julips, and men take Pils not to steale.
The judgement's subtler here, and hath allow'd
The parcht Moone chast light wrapt in that black cloud
Here Scythians breasts of hot desires have sence,
Nor with their Furres still put on Innocence.
Yet he still grants these flames may sooner grow,
In Southerne Sulphure then in Northerne Snow,
And that Chast thoughts in Italy are rare,
And that each Turtle proves a Phœnix there.
He envies no mans virtue, as none's Sin,
Yet knowes that some an Easier Conquest win.
All may be chast for him, yet 'tis well knowne,
Our Jewell is some Climates Common stone.
Thus the wise Author makes his judgement sure,
Allowes all Rich, but those that will be Poore.
The parcht Moone chast light wrapt in that black cloud
Here Scythians breasts of hot desires have sence,
Nor with their Furres still put on Innocence.
Yet he still grants these flames may sooner grow,
In Southerne Sulphure then in Northerne Snow,
And that Chast thoughts in Italy are rare,
And that each Turtle proves a Phœnix there.
He envies no mans virtue, as none's Sin,
Yet knowes that some an Easier Conquest win.
All may be chast for him, yet 'tis well knowne,
Our Jewell is some Climates Common stone.
Thus the wise Author makes his judgement sure,
Allowes all Rich, but those that will be Poore.
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