Flamma sine Fumo or, poems without fictions. Hereunto are annexed the Causes, Symptoms, or Signes of several Diseases with their Cures, and also the diversity of Urines, with their Causes in Poetical measure. By R. W. [i.e. Rowland Watkyns] |
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To the fond Lover. |
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 | Flamma sine Fumo |  |
To the fond Lover.
------ Est forma fugax, est fæmina fallax.
Be resolute, (fond youth) and free
From courting her, which loves not thee:
Strange passions rule a Lovers brain,
Now tears, then smiles; now joy, then pain:
Now hope doth rule, then black despair,
Now he exclaims, then calls her fair;
He sometimes doth Gods aid implore,
But loves, and calls on Cælia more:
No joy, no wealth, no worldly bliss,
May be compar'd with Cælia's kiss:
But we may seek, and find as well,
Most perfect rest and ease from hell,
As to derive our Paradise
From any womans wanton eyes:
We shall for honey look in vain
From a foul nest of wasps to gain.
Cælia cheats with her false treasure,
Guilding pains and death with pleasure.
She is a wavering, fickle toy,
None is more fond, none is more coy.
If thou art strange, then she is free,
If free thou art, she's strange to thee;
She will reject, if thou dost chuse,
She will affect, if thou refuse.
If thou art yce, then she is fire,
Burn thou, and she will quench desire;
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When thou disdain'st, she is thine own;
She laughs, and weeps, she's kind, and sour,
She grants, denies, all in an hour;
Her bitter frowns, her sweetest smiles,
Are all compos'd of snares and wiles.
She paints an outward face of love,
Where she will most a tyrant prove;
And sometimes she pretends to hate,
Where her sick soul is captivate;
What she desires to scorn she fains,
And seems to wish, what she disdains:
Thus a poor Lover knows not well,
Whether he is in heaven, or hell.
Then fix thy love on Christ thy Rock,
Not on a wavering Weather-cock.
| Flamma sine Fumo | |