 | Love's Labyrinth |  |
To his Worthy Friend Mr. Thomas Forde on his LOVES LABYRINTH.
True
Friend, while others me out-vie, and grace thee
(As thou dost them far more) I scarce can trace thee
I many thousand miles do wander
Of Pilgrimage in thy Mæander,
Till by the golden thred,
Of Love I'm safe through led.
(As thou dost them far more) I scarce can trace thee
I many thousand miles do wander
Of Pilgrimage in thy Mæander,
Till by the golden thred,
Of Love I'm safe through led.
Thy Wit is far beyond the Serpentine;
Thy wreathings chequer-work and warp divine;
Thy curious inter-woven Plots,
Rich twine, ty'd all in Lovers-knots:
Thy Skill is exquisite,
To untie and unite.
Thy wreathings chequer-work and warp divine;
Thy curious inter-woven Plots,
Rich twine, ty'd all in Lovers-knots:
Thy Skill is exquisite,
To untie and unite.
Thy Tent-works in-let pleases me so well,
I'de have none out-let: I'de rather dwell.
I love thy labyrinth, and approve,
That thou shouldst labyrinth my love:
There I poor well-hous'd elf
Might safely lose my self.
I'de have none out-let: I'de rather dwell.
I love thy labyrinth, and approve,
That thou shouldst labyrinth my love:
There I poor well-hous'd elf
Might safely lose my self.
I see, work-women a'n't above workmen,
How far short comes the needle of the pen!
Those Damosels, who are so devouts
In pricking little holes in clouts,
Thy lively Tapestry-story
Out-strips their painted glory.
How far short comes the needle of the pen!
Those Damosels, who are so devouts
In pricking little holes in clouts,
Thy lively Tapestry-story
Out-strips their painted glory.
Let spleen it self judge eithers manu tract:
Their female works can't speak, thy male-words Act.
A drop of this your art (Sr.) passes
Beyond an Ocean of the Lasses
Their byas-stitch doth squint,
But thine's down-right in print.
Their female works can't speak, thy male-words Act.
A drop of this your art (Sr.) passes
Beyond an Ocean of the Lasses
Their byas-stitch doth squint,
But thine's down-right in print.
Nay all thou do'st would be such ne'retheless,
Though it ne're saw the light, nor felt the press.
Thy last impression comes behind,
The first and chief is in thy mind:
Thou art beyond the rest,
Thy first Edition's best.
Though it ne're saw the light, nor felt the press.
Thy last impression comes behind,
The first and chief is in thy mind:
Thou art beyond the rest,
Thy first Edition's best.
None living can (I probably conjecture)
No not thy self) repair this Architecture.
Each line's right perpendicular,
Reason thy Plum, and Truth thy Square:
Each full-point may be sead,
A nail driv'n to the Head.
No not thy self) repair this Architecture.
Each line's right perpendicular,
Reason thy Plum, and Truth thy Square:
Each full-point may be sead,
A nail driv'n to the Head.
But I could wish there were no period,
That (though all's even) yet something still were od;
That after all Exits might begin
Still more fresh Intrats to come in.
The whole frame so divine is,
Nought vexes me but FINIS.
That (though all's even) yet something still were od;
That after all Exits might begin
Still more fresh Intrats to come in.
The whole frame so divine is,
Nought vexes me but FINIS.
N. C.
| Love's Labyrinth | |