Lyric Poems Made in Imitation of the Italians. Of which, many are Translations From other Languages ... By Philip Ayres |
 |
|
Love's New Philosophy.
|
|
 | Lyric Poems |  |
63
Love's New Philosophy.
I
Who'e're a Lover is of Art,May come and learn of me
A New Philosophy;
Such as no Schools could e'er impart.
Love all my other Notions does controul,
And reads these stranger Lectures to my Soul.
II
This God who takes delight to lye,Does Sacred Truths defame,
And Aristotle blame,
Concluding all by Subtilty:
His Syllogisms with such Art are made,
Not Solomon himself could them evade.
III
So wondrous is his Art and Skill,His Reasons pierce like Darts,
Mens Intellects and Hearts;
Old Maximes he destroys at will,
And blinded Plato so, he made him think,
Twas Water, when he gave him Fire to drink.
64
IV
That Water can extinguish Fire,All Ages did allow;
But Love denyes it now,
And says it makes his Flame rage higher;
Which Truth my self have prov'd for many Years:
Wherein I've wept whole Deluges of Tears.
V
At the Sun's Rays, you Cynthia know,The Ice no more can melt,
Nor can the Fire be felt,
Or have its wonted Influence on Snow:
By your relentless Heart is this exprest,
Your Eyes are Suns, the Fire is in my Brest.
VI
When Soul and Body separate,That then the Life must dye;
This too I must deny,
My Soul's with her, who rules my Fate.
Yet still my Organs move a Proof to give,
That Soul and Body can divided live.
65
VII
Remove the Cause, th' Effects will cease.This is an Errour too,
And found by me untrue;
My Fair when near disturbs my Peace,
But when she's furthest off, no Tongue can tell
The raging Pangs of Love my Heart does feel.
VIII
All Creatures Love not their own Kind,I this new Axiom try:
And that all fear to dye
By Nature; a Mistake I find:
For I, a Man, do a Fierce Creature love,
And such, I know, that will my Murd'ress prove.
IX
Here two Extreams are eas'ly join'd,Joy and Grief in my Brest,
VVhich give my Soul no Rest;
Both to torment me are combin'd:
For when I view the Source of all my Wrong,
I sigh my Musick, mix with Tears my Song.
66
X
That, all things like Effects produce:I readily can prove
A Paradox in Love,
And my Conclusion hence deduce;
Cold Cynthia to my Zeal yields no Return,
Though Ice her Heart, she makes my Heart to burn.
XI
Whilst in this Torment I remain,It is no Mystery
To be, and not to be;
I dye to Joy, and live to Pain.
So that, my Fair, I may be justly sed,
To be, and not to be, Alive and Dead.
XII
Now, go, my Song, yet shun the EyesOf those ne'er felt Love's Flame,
And if my Cynthia blame
Thy Arguments as Sophistries,
Tell her, this is Love's New Philosophy,
Which none can understand, but such as try.
| Lyric Poems | |