 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
118
To Chloris.
Stanzes Irreguliers.
I.
Lord! how you take upon you still!How you crow and domineer!
How! still expect to have your will,
And carry the Dominion clear,
As you were still the same that once you were!
II.
Fie, Chloris, 'tis a gross mistake,Correct your errour, and be wise,
I kindly still your kindness take,
But yet have learn'd, though love I prize,
Your froward humours to despise,
And now disdain to call them Cruelties.
119
III.
I was a Fool whilst you were fair,And I had Youth t'excuse it,
And all the rest are so that Lovers are;
I then my self your Vassal swear,
And could be still so; (which is rare;)
Nay, I could force my will
To love, and at a good rate still,
But on condition that you not abuse it;
I am now Master of the Gate,
And therefore, Chloris, 'tis too late
Or to insult, or to capitulate.
IV.
'Tis Beauty that to WomankindGives all the Rule and Sway,
Which once declining, or declin'd,
Men afterwards unwillingly obey;
Your Beauty 'twas at first did awe me,
And into Bondage, woefull Bondage draw me;
It was your Cheek, your Eye, your Lip,
Which rais'd you first to the Dictator-ship:
120
V.
But your six months are now expir'd,'Tis time I now should reign,
And if from you obedience be requir'd,
You must not to submit disdain,
But practise what y'ave seen me doe,
And love and honour me as I did you;
That will an everlasting peace maintain,
And make me Crown you Sovereign once again.
VI.
And Faith consult your Glass, and seeIf I ha'n't reason on my side;
Are those eyes still the same they use to be?
Come, come, they're alter'd, 'twill not be deni'd:
And yet although the Glass be true,
And shew you, you no more are you,
I know you'll scarce believe it,
For Womankind are all born proud, and never, never leave it.
121
VII.
Yet still you have enough, and more than needs,To rule a more Rebellious heart than mine;
For as your eyes still shoot my heart still bleeds,
And I must be a Subject still,
Nor is it much against my will,
Though I pretend to wrestle and repine:
Your Beauties sweet are in their height,
And I must still adore,
New years, new Graces still create,
Nay, maugre Time, Mischance and Fate,
You in your very ruines shall have more
Than all the Beauties that have grac'd the World before.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |