 | Poems Upon Several Occasions |  |
The Councel.
I
As some wise lesser Prince, who goesWith all his Strength t'ngage his mightier Foes,
Considers how, and when, and where he may
Draw up the Battle in Array,
On this the coming Fate of War depends,
The Kingdom is by this made up, or ends.
II
Ev'n so a Council I must call,If I must love her much, or not at all,
In Reason's Ballance I am bound to weigh
Whether I should obey
Her Royal Will, and then lay down my Arms,
Or else assault this rich Peru of Charms.
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III
Should I but love her in extreams,She'd rather still increase than quench my Flames,
'Twould please her cruel Vanity to see
A Lover plung'd in Misery;
Instead of cooling my incens'd Desire,
With formal Smiles sh'd blow my wretched Fire.
IV
And sooner I could change my NatureThan not adore and hug that lovely Creature.
Propitious Stars tell me what Course to steer,
Sylla is there, Charibdis here:
Virtue consists in Mediocrity,
But Love is always in Extremity.
V
Well, to Leucadia I'll repair,Where miserable Lovers lose their Care;
Sad Cephalus did first this Place approve,
And quencht the flaming Torch of Love.
Than this what can a better Council be?
Here Love is swallow'd up in Victory.
| Poems Upon Several Occasions | |