The Grammar of the Heart.
That speaketh the Truth in his Heart.
PSAL. 15 2.
My Grammar, I define to be an Art,
Which teacheth me to write and speak mine heart,
By which I learn that smooth tongu'd flatt'ries are
False Language, and in love irregular.
Among'st my Letters, Vow-wells I admit,
Of none but Consonant, to sacred Writ.
And therefore when my Soul in silence moans,
Half vowel'd sighs, and double deep thong'd groans,
Mute looks, and liquid tears in stead of words,
Are of the language that mine heart affords.
And since true love abhors all variations,
My Grammar hath no moads nor conjugations:
Tenses, nor Persons, nor Declensions,
Cases, nor genders, nor comparisons:
What are my Letters are, my Words but one,
And on the meaning of it love alone.
Concard is all my Syntax and agreement:
Is in my Grammar perfect regiment.
He wants no Language that hath learn'd to love,
When tongues are still, hearts will be heard above.
