University of Virginia Library

On the Death of Mr. William Goffe, late Gallant to the Lady Willoughby Yeomans, kill'd by Richard Love.

How, Goffe forsook her! 'tis as true as may be,
He has took distast, and so has left my Lady.
This should not be, for Ladys have such Art,
VVhen they have got possession of a Heart,
They know their forces, and with cunning sway,
No Heart can mutiny or disobey.
Some say he's dead. This then will end the strife,
Death robb'd my Lady, as she robb'd his VVife.
By what rude Hand was it that he did fall?
By Love. O mighty Love, thou conquer'st all!
Hast thou again mistook? has Death and thee
Been conversant and chang'd Artillery?
Reclaim thy Errour, see what thou hast done,
Give Death his Arrows, and take thou thy own.
Ah Madam, now where were those powerful Charms
That should have kept your Lover in your Arms?
Come tell me, Venus, is not Love your Son,
The same with Cupid? Then what has he done?
O he has slain thy Mars, and Arms put on
VVould fright Achilles and his Myrmodons;
But yet methinks your Lover should not dye,
Death sure cannot resist a Ladies Eye.
Go touch his liveless Corps, and when that's done,
The Tyrant needs must give you what's your own
But that Dame

Mr. Goffs Wife.

Baucis will put in a Plea,
E'ne take him Death, for he belongs to me:
Unless to share him, you have got the Art,
Half for my Lady, Death take Baucis part;
As the Twin Stars by turn shine in the Skie,
One day he shall survive, the next day dye.
But we have found a better way then this,
Madam, my Lady, or what else you please,
Shall put on all her Ornaments and Geer,
Step down to Hell, and find her Lover there;
There intercede with Proserpine the Queen,
And if she can but him from thence redeem,
She shall in partnership no longer be,
But by this means gain the Monopoly.
Now Orpheus for a Women once did so,
She for a Man, will make it quid for quo.
But here perchance you'l say, 'tis basely done,
Thus to insult upon a Ladies wrong.
Which I'le deny, for many in your sight,
Do think far worse than I intend to Write;
And though they do not speak, their thoughts are free:
A secret's worse than open Enemy:
But I am neither. Deaths severer Brow,
Presents his Image, that I write of now,
And to my thoughts most sadly does discover
The grief that you conceive for such a Lover.
But this does most of all my passion move,
That he who liv'd by Love, shou'd dye by Love.
But I have done, lest this shou'd give offence,
My Ne plus ultra makes a recompence.