A new-born wood of various lines there grows;
Here buds an A, and there a B,
Here fprouts a V, and there a T,
And all the flourishing letters ftand in rows.
Still, filly paper! thou wilt think

That all this might as well be writ with ink:
Oh, no; there's fenfe in this, and mystery-
Thou now may't change thy author's name,
And to her hand lay noble claim;

For, as the reads, the makes, the words in thee.

Yet-if thine own unworthiness

Will till that thou art mine, not her's, confessConfume thyfelf with fire before her eyes, And fo hergrace or pity move:

The gods, though beafts they do not love, Yet like them when they're burnt in facrifice.

INCONSTANCY.

IVE years ago (fays Story) I lov'd you,
For which you call me moft inconftant now;
Pardon me, Madam! you mistake the man,
For I am not the fame that I was then;

No Beih is now the fame 'twas then in me;
And that my mind is chang'd, yourfelf may fee.
The fame thoughts to retain ftill, and intents,
Were more inconftant far; for accidents
Mult of all things moft ftrangely' inconftant prove,
If from one fubject they t' another move;
My members then the father-members were
From whence thefe take their birth which now
are here.

If then this body love what th' other did,
Twere inceft; which by Nature is forbid.
You might as well this day inconftant name,
Because the weather is not ftill the fame

That it was

yesterday-or blame the year, Caufe the fpring flowers, and autumn fruit, does

bear.

The world's a scene of changes; and to be Conant, in Nature were inconftancy; For 'rwere to break the laws herfelf has made : Our fubftances themfelves do fleet and fade; The moft fix'd being ftill does move and fly, Swift as the wings of time 'tis meafur'd by. Timagine then that Love fhould never cease (Love, which is but the ornament of thefe) Were quite as fenfeless, as to wonder why Beauty and colour itays not when we die.

NOT FAIR.

IS very true, I thought you once as fair

As women in th' idea are;

Whatever here feems beauteous, feem'd to he
But a faint metaphor of thee:

But then, methoughts, there fomething fhin'd within,

Which caft this luftre o'er thy fkin;
Nor could I chufe but count it the fun's light,
Which made this cloud appear fo bright.

But, fince I knew thy falsehood and thy pride, And all thy thoufand faults befide,

A very Moor, methinks, plac'd near to thee,
White as his teeth would feem to be.
So men (they fay) by hell's delufions led,
Have ta'en a fuccubus to their bed;
Believe it fair, and themfelves happy call,
Till the cleft foot discovers all:
Then they start from 't, half ghosts then.felves
with fear;

And devil, as 'tis, it does appear.

So, fince against my will I found thee foul,
Deform'd and crooked in thy foul,

My reafon ftrait did to my fenfes fhew,

That they might be miftaken ten: Nay, when the world but knows how falfe you are, There's not a man will think you fair; Thy fhape will monftrous in their lancies be,

They'll call their eyes as falfe as thee. Be what thou wilt, hate will present thee fo A. Puritans do the Pope, and Papists Luther do.

PLATONIC LOV E.

NDEED I must confefs,

When fouls mix 'tis an happiness;
But not compleat till bodies too combine,
And clofely as our minds together join:
But half of heaven the fouls in glory tafte,
Till by love in heaven, at laft,
Their bodies too are plac'd.

In thy immortal part

Man, as well as I, thou art;

But fomething 'tis that differs thee and me;
And we must one even in that difference be,
I thee, both as a man and woman, prize;
For a perfect love implies
Love in all capacities.

Can that for true love pafs,

When a fair woman courts her glafs? Something unlike muft in love's likenefs be; His wonder is, one, and variety:

For he, whofe foul nought but a foul can move, Docs a new Narciffus prove,

And his own image love.

That fouls do beauty know,

"Tis to the bodies help they owe;

If, when they know 't, they ftrait abufe that truft,
And fhut the body from 't, 'tis as unjust
As if I brought my dearest friend to fee
My miftrefs, and at th' inftant he
Should fteal her quite from me.

THE CHANGE.

LOVE in her funny eyes does barking plays

Love walks the pleafant mazes of her hair Love does on both her lips for ever stray, And fows and reaps a thoufard kifles there,

In all her outward parts Love's always feen;
But oh he never went within.

Within, Love's foes, his greatest foes, abide,
Malice, Inconftancy, and Pride:

So, the earth's face trees, herbs, and flowers, do drefs,

With other beauties numberlefs;

But at the centre darkaefs is, and hell;
There wicked fpirits, and there the damned,
dwell.

With me, alas! quite contrary it fares;
Darkness and death lie in my weeping eyes,
Defpair and palenefs in my face appears,
And grief, and fear, Love's greatest enemies;
But, like the Perfian tyrant, Love within

Keeps his proud court, and ne'er is seen.

Oh! take my heart, and by that means you'll prove

Within too ftor'd enough of love: Give me but your's, I'll by that change fo thrive, That love in all my parts fhall live. So powerful is this change, it render can My outside Woman, and your infide Man.

LEAVING ME, AND THEN LOVING MANY.

men, who once have cast the truth away,

S Forbook by God, do ftrange wild lufts obey;

So the vain Gentiles, when they left t'adore
One Deity, could not stop at thousands more:
Their zeal was fenfelefs ftrait, and boundless,
grown;

They worship'd many a beast and many a ftone.
Ah, fair apoftate! couldft thou think to flee
From Truth and Goodnefs, yet keep unity?
I reign'd alone; and my bleft felf could call
The univerfal monarch of her all.
Mine, mine, her fair Eaft-Indies were above,
Where those funs rife that cheer the world of
Love?

Where beauties fhine like gems of richest price;
Where coral grows, and every breath is fpice:
Mine too her rich Weft-Indies were below,
Where mines of gold and endless treasures grow.
But, as when the Pellaan conqueror dy'd,
Many ímall princes did his crown divide;
So, fince my love his vanquifh'd world forfook,
Murder'd by poifons from her falsehood took,
An hundred petty kings claim each their part,
And rend that glorious empire of her heart.

'Tis not the linen fhews fo fair;

Her fkin fhines through, and makes it bright:
So clouds themfelves like funs appear,
When the fun pierces them with light:
So, lilies in a glafs inclofe,

The glafs will feem as white as those.

Thou now one heap of beauty art;
Nought outwards, or within, is foul:
Condensed beams make every part;
Thy body's cloathed like thy foul;
Thy foul, which does itself difplay,
Like a ftar, plac'di' th' milky-way.

Such robes the faints departed wear,
Woven all with light divine;
Such their exalted bodies are,
And with fuch full glory fhine:
But they regard not mortals' pain;
Men pray, I fear, to both in vain.

Yet, feeing thee fo gently pure,
My hopes will needs continue ftill;
Thou would'ft not take this garment, fure,
When thou hadft an intent to kill!
Of peace and yielding who would doubt,
When the white flag he fees hung out?

MY HEART DISCOVERED.

ER body is fo gently bright,

HER

Clear and tranfparent to the fight
(Clear as fair crystal to the view,
Yet foft as that, ere ftone it grew)
That through her flesh, methinks, is feen
The brighter foul that dwells within:
Our eyes the fubtile covering pafs,
And fee that lily through its glass.

I through her breast her heart espy,
As fouls in hearts do fouls defcry:
I fee 't with gentle motions beat;
I fee light in 't, but find no heat.
Within, like angels in the sky,
A thoufand gilded thoughts do fly;
Thoughts of bright and nobleft kind,
Fair and chafte as mother-mind.
But oh! what other heart is there,
Which fighs and crouds to her's fo near?
'Tis all on flame, and does, like fire,
To that, as to its heaven, afpire!
The wounds are many in't and deep;
Still does it bleed, and still does weep!
Whofe-ever wretched heart it be,

I cannot choose but grieve to fee:
What pity in my breaft does reign!
Methinks I feel too all its pain.
So torn, and fo defac'd, it lies,

That it could ne'er be known by th' eyes;
But oh! at laft I heard it groan,

And knew by th' voice that 'twas mine own.

So poor Alcione, when fhe faw

A fhipwreck'd body tow'rds her draw,

If ever I an hope admit,
Without thy image ftamp'd on it;
Or any fear, till I begin

To find that you're concern'd therein;
If a joy c'er come to me,
That tastes of any thing but thee;
If any forrow touch my mind,
Whilft you are well, and not unkind;
If I a minute's fpace debate,
Whether I fhall curfe and hate
The things beneath thy hatred fall,
Though all the world, myself and all;
And for love-if ever I

Approach to it again fo nigh,
As to allow a toleration

To the leaft glimmering inclination;
If thou alone doft not controul
All thofe tyrants of my foul,
And to thy beauties ty'ft them fo,
That conftant they as habits grow;
If any paffion of my heart,
By any force, or any art,

Be brought to move one step from thee,
May'st thou no paffion have for me!

If my bufy' Imagination,

Do not thee in all things fafhion;
So that all fair species be
Hieroglyphic marks of thee;
If when the her sports does keep
(The lower foul being all afleep)
She play one dream, with all her art,
Where thou haft not the longest part;
If aught get place in my remembrance,
Without fome badge of thy resemblance→
So that thy parts become to me
A kind of art of memory;-
If my Understanding do
Seek any knowledge but of you;
If the do near thy body prize
Her bodies of philofophies;
If fhe to the Will do fhew
Aught defirable but you;
Or, if that would not rebel,

Should the another doctrine tell;

If my Will do not refign

All her liberty to thine;
If he would not follow thee,

Though Fate and thou should'ft difagree;
And if (for I a curfe will give,
Such as fhall force thee to believe)
My foul be not entirely thine;

May thy dear body ne'er be mine!

So in a zeal the fons of Ifrael

Sometimes upon their idols fell,
And they depos'd the powers of heli;
Baal and Aftarte down they threw,
And Acharon and Moloch too:
All this imperfect piety did no good,
Whilft yet, alas! the calf of Bethel flood.
Fondly I boast, that I have dreft my vine
With painful art, and that the wine
Is of a tafte rich and divine;

Since Love, by mixing poison there,
Fas made it worfe than vinegar.
Love ev'n the tafte of Nectar changes fo,
That Gods chufe rather water here below.

Fear, Anger, Hope, all paffions elfe that be,
Drive this one tyrant out of me,
And practife all your tyranny!

The change of ills fome good will do:
Th' oppreffed wretched Indians fo,

Being flaves by the great Spanish monarch made,
Call in the States of Holland to their aid.

THE PASSIONS.

FROMnd all the paffions effe that be,

ROM Hate, Fear, Hope, Anger, and Envy, free

In vain I bouft of liberty,

In vain this ftaté a freedom call; Since I have love, and Love is all: Sot that Im, who think it fit to brag That I have adde belides the plague!

THE DESPAIR.

DENEATH this gloomy fhade,

only made,

I'll spend this voice in cries;
In tears I'll waste thefe eyes,
By Love fo vainly fed;

66

So Luft, cf old, the Deluge punished. Ah, wretched youth!" said I; "Ah, wretched youth!" twice did I fadly cry; "Ah, wretched youth!" the fields and floods reply.