University of Virginia Library

Right CHOICE at last.

The Soul, too oft in Coldness lost,
Stands need of Zeal to thaw that Frost.
Whose Sunshine can great Vertues bring,
Blossom the Mind, and make it spring.
Fir'd with that sacred heat, my breast
Copies in flames the Phœnix Nest.
The ancient Bird, consum'd with Fire,
Revives into a new desire:
I'th' Cynders thrives the hopeful Birth:
As Ashes help t'improve the Earth.
Those will the fittest Compost prove
T'inrich my Heart, (that Soil of love.)
Cutting the Suckers from the root
Will make my Myrtle branches shoot.
When Zeal's to more than one inclin'd,
It is th' Idolatry o'th' Mind.
Love canton'd out, lessens its store:
As many Sons make Kings ev'n poor.
But Fate does so my Heart advance,
To be your sole Inheritance.
That Monarch of my breast (as due)
No Heyr apparent owns but you.
The noble Romans thus supply'd
By Adoption, what the Flesh deny'd.
Observing more returns of worth
From Choice, than from uncertain birth.
Those easie charms that Nature move,
Are but the Childishness of Love.
The noblest Triumphs, and more fame
From Consuls, than their Tyrants came.
Till Cæsar's fate did overcome,
And made one Trophy ev'n of Rome.
My Heart, that Common-wealth of Love,
Like that of Rome in this did prove;
To present Rulers It was true;
But yearly chang'd again for new.
With Crouds of Deities well stor'd,
And, as they pleas'd it, them ador'd.
Like Cæsar's, your attractive sway
Makes it my interest to obey.
And like dull Mayors inslav'd by Gain,
I boast the glory of my Chain.