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And, if by event the counsels may be seen,

And, since love ne'er will from me fice, This Wisdom 'twas that brought the southern A mistress moderately fair, queen :

And good as guardian-angels are,
She came not, like a good old wife, to know

Only belov'd, and loving me!
The wholesome nature of all plants that grow;
Nor did so far from her own country roam,

Oh, fountains! when in you shall I
To cure scald-heads and broken-shins at home;

Myself, eas’d of unpeaceful thoughts, espy?

Oh fields ! oh woods! when, when shall I be made She came for that, which more befits all wives, The art of giving, not of saving, lives.

The happy tenant of your shade ?

Here's the spring-head of Pleasure's flood;
Where all the riches lie, that she

Has coin'd and stamp'd for good.

Pride and ambition here

Only in far-fetch'd metaphors appear; BCNeath this gloomy shade,

Here nought but winds can hurtful murmurs By Nature only for my sorrows made,

scatter, I'll spend this voice in cries;

And nought but Echo flatter. In tears I'll waste these eyes,

The gods, when they descended, hither By love so vainly fed ;

From Heaven did always chuse their way; So Lust, of old, the Deluge punished.

And therefore we may boldly say, “ Ah, wretched youth !” said I;

That 'tis the way too thither. « Ah, wretched youth !” twice did I sadly cry; " Ah, wreched youth !” the fields and floods

How happy here should I,

And one dear she, live, and embracing die ! reply.

She, who is all the world, and can exclude
When thoughts of love I entertain,

In deserts solitude.
I meet no words but“ Never,” and “ In vain." I should have then this only fear-

Never,” alas ! that dreadful name Lest men, when tbey my pleasures see,
Which fuels the eternal flame:

Should hither throng to live like me, “Never" my time to come must waste;

Aud so make a city here. “ In vain” torments the present and the past. “ In vain, in vain," said I;

MY DIET. “ In vain, in vain!'' twice did I sadly cry; “ In vain, in vain !" the fields and floods reply.

Now, by my Love, the greatest oath that is,

None loves you half so well as 1 : No more shall fields and floods do so;

I do not ask your love for this ; For I to shades more dark and silent go :

But for Heaven's sake believe me, or I die. All this world's noise appears to me

No servant e'er but did deserve A dull, ill acted comedy :

His master should believe that he does serve; No comfort to my wounded sight,

And I'll ask no more wages, though I starve. In the Sun's busy and impertinent light. Then down I laid my head,

'Tis no luxurious diet this, and sure Down on cold earth; and for a while was dead,

I shall not by 't too lusty prove ; And my freed soul to a strange somewhere fled.

Yet shall it willingly endure,

If’t can but keep together life and love. “ Ah, sottish soul !” said I,

· Being your prisoner and your slave, When back to its cage again I saw it fly;

I do not feasts and banquets look to have; “ Fool, to resume her broken chain,

A little bread and water 's all I crave.
And row her galley here again!
Fool, to that body to return

On a sigh of pity I a year can live;
Where it condemn'd and destin'd is to burn!

One tear will keep me twenty, at least ; Once dead, how can it be,

Fifty, a gentle look will give; Death should a thing so pleasant seem to thee,

An hundred years on one kind word I'll feast : That thou should’st come to live it o'er again if you an inclination have for me ;

A thousand more will added be, in me?"

And all beyond is vast eternity !

Well then; I now do plainly see
This busy world and I shall ne'er agree ;
The very honey of all earthly joy

Does of all meats the soonest cloy;

And they, methinks, deserve my pity,
Who for it can endure the stings,
The crowd, and buz, and murmurings,

Of this great hive, the city.

Ah, yet, ere I descend to th' grave,
May I a small house and large garden have!
And a few friends, and many books, both true,

Both wise, and both delightful too!

Tuou robb'st my days of business and delights,

Of sleep thou robb'st my nights ;
Ah, lovely thief! what wilt thou do?
What ? rob me of Heaven too?
Thou ev'n my prayers dost steal from


And I, with wild idolatry,
Begin to God, and end them all to thee.
Is it a sin to love, that it should thus,

Like an ill conscience, torture us?
Whate'er I do, where'er I go,
(None guiltless e'er was haunted so !)
Still, still, methinks, thy face I view,

And still thy shape does me pursue, As if, not you me, but I had murder'd you. From books I strive some remedy to take,

Bat thy name all the letters make;
Whate'er 'tis writ, I find that there,
Like points and commas every where :
Me blest for this let no man hold;

For I, as Midas did of old,
Porish by turing every thing to gold.
What do I seek, alas ! or why do I

Attempt in vain from thee to fly?
For making thee my deity,
I gave the then ubiquity.
My pains resemble Hell in this;

The Diviue Presence there too is,
But to torment men, not to give them bliss.

At once, with double course in the same sphere,

He runs the day, and walks the year.

When Sol does to myself refer, 'Tis then my life, and does but slowly move;

But when it does relate to her,

It swiftly flies, and then is love. Love's my diurnal course, divided right,

"Twixt hope and fear--my day and night.


ALL-OVER LOVE. 'Tis well, 'tis well with them, say I, Whose short-liv'd passions with themselves can


For none can be unhappy, who,

Midst all his ills, a time does know (Though ne'er so long) when he shall not be so.

Whatever parts of me remain."
Those parts will still the love of thee retain ;

For 'twas not only in my heart,

But, like a god, by powerful art 'Twas all in all, and all in every part.

My affection no more perish can Than the first matter that compounds a man.

Hereafter, if one dust of me

Mix'd with another's substance be, 'Twill leaven that whole lump with love of thee.

Let Nature, if she please, disperse My atoms over all the universe ;

At the last they easily shall

Themselves know, and together call; For thy love, like a mark, is stamp'd on all..

THE BARGAIN. Take heed, take heed, thou lovely maid,

Nor be by glittering ills betray'd ; Thyself for money! oh, let no man know

The price of beauty fall’n so low !

What dangers ought'st thou not to dread, When Love, that's blind, is by blind Fortune led? The foolish Indian, that sells

His precious gold for beads and bells, Does a more wise and gainful traffic hold,

Than thou, who sell'st thyself for gold.

What gains in such a bargain are? He'll in thy mines dig better treasures far,

Can gold, alas ! with thee compare ?

The Sun, that makes it, 's not so fair; The Sun, which can nor make nor ever sec

A thing so beautiful as thee,

In all the journeys he does pass,
Though the sea serv'd him for a looking-glass.

Bold was the wretch that cheapen'd thee;

Since Magus, none so bold as he : Thou 'rt so divine a thing, that thee to buy

Is to be counted simony;

Too dear he'll find his sordid price Has forfeited that and the benefice.

If it be lawful thee to buy,

There's none can pay that rate but I; Nothing on Earth a fitting price can be,

But what on Earth's most like to thee;

And that my heart does only bear; For there thyself, thy very self is there.

So much thyself does in me live,

That, when it for thyself I give,
'Tis but to change that piece of gold for this,

Whose stamp and value equal is;
And, that full weight too may be had,
My soul and body, two grains more, I'll add,

LOVE AND LIFE. Now, sure, within this twelvemonth past, l'ave lov'd at least some twenty years or more:

Th’ account of love runs much more fast

Than that with which our life does score: So, though my life be short, yet I may prove

The great Methusalem of love.

Not that love's bours or minutes are Shorter than those our being 's measur'd by :

But they 're more close compacted far,

And so in lesser room do lie :
Thin airy things extend themselves in space,

Things solid take up little place.

Yet love, alas ! and life in me,
Are not two several things, but purely one ;

At once how can there in it be

A double, different motion ?
O yes, there may; for so the self-same Sun

At once does slow and swiftly run:

Swiftly his daily journey he goes,
But treads his annual with a statelier pace;

And does three hundred rounds enclose
Within one yearly circle's space ;

THE LONG LIFE. Love from Time's wings hath stoln the feathers,


He bas, and put them to his own;
For hours, of late, as long as days endure,

And very minutes hours are grown.
The various motions of the turning year

Belong not now at all to me:
Each summer's night does Lucy's now appear,

Each winter's day St. Barnaby.
How long a space since first I lov'd it is !

To look into a glass I fear;
And am surpriz'd with wonder when I miss

Gray hairs and wrinkles there.

Th' old Patriarchs' 'age, and not their happi- | The needle trembles so, and turns about, ness too,

Till it the northern point find out ; Why does hard Fate to us restore ?

But constant then and fix'd does prove, Why does Love's fire thus to mankind renew,

Fix'd, that his dearest pole as soon may move. What the flood wash'd away hefore?

Then may my vessel torn and shipwreck'd be, Sure those are happy people that complain

If it put forth again to sea ! O'th' shortness of the days of man:

It never more abroad shall roam, Contract mine, Heaven! and bring them back Though 't could next voyage bring the Indies again

home. To th' ordinary span.

But I must sweat in love, and labour yet, If when your gift, long life, I disapprove,

Till I a competency get ; I too ingrateful seem to be ;

They're slothful fools who leave a trade, Punish me justly, Heaven ; make her to love, Till they a moderate fortune by 't have made. And then 'twill be too short for me.

Variety I ask not; give me one

To live perpetually upon.

The person, Love does to us fit,

Like manna, has the taste of all in it.
Gently, ah, gently, madam, touch

The wound which you yourself have made ;
That pain must needs be very much,

Which makes me of your hand afraid.
Cordials of pity give me now,

For Heaven's sake, what d' you mean to do? For I too weak for purgings grow.

Keep me, or let me go, one of the two;

Youth and warm hours let me not idly lose, Do but awhile with patience stay

The little time that Love does chuse, (lor counsel yet will do no good)

If always here I must not stay, Till time, and rest, and Heaven, allay

Let me be gone whilst yet ’tis day;
The violent burnings of my blood ;

Lest I, faint and benighted, lose my way.
For what effect from this can flow,
To chide men drunk, for being so ?

'Tis dismal, cne so long to love

In vain ; till to love more as vain must prove Perhaps the physic's good you give, But ne'er to me can useful prove ;

To hunt so long on nimble prey, till we

Too weary to take others be;
Med cines may cure, but not revive;

Alas ! 'tis folly to remain,
And I'm not sick, but dead in love,
In Love's Hell, not his world, am I;

And waste our army thus in vain,

Before a city which will ne'er be ta'en. At once I live, am dead, and die.

At several hopes wisely to fly, What new-found rhetoric is thine !

Ought not to be esteem'd inconstancy; Ev'n thy dissuasions me persuade,

'Tis more inconstant always to pursue And thy great power does clearest shine,

A thing that always flies from you ; When thy commands are disobey'd.

For that at last may meet a bound, In vain thou bid'st me to forbear;

But no end can to this be found, Obedience were rebellion here.

'Tis nought but a perpetual fruitless round. Thy tongue comes in, as if it meant

When it does hardness meet, and pride, Against thine eyes t'assist mine heart:

My love does then rebound t' another side; But different far was his intent,

But, if it aught that's soft and yielding hit, For straight the traitor took their part;

It lodges there, and stays in it. And by this new foe I'm bereit

Whatever 'tis shall first love ine, Of all that little which was left.

That it my Heaven may truly be,
The act, I must confess, was wise,

I shall be sure to give 't eternity.
As a dishonest act could be :
Well knew the tongue, alas! your eyes

Would be too strong for that and me;
And part o' th' triumph chose to get,

Rather than be a part of it.

B Heaven, I'll tell her boldly that 'tis she;
Why should she ashan’d or angry be,

To be belov’d by me?

The gods may give their altars o'er, 'Tis true, l’ave lov d already three or four, They'll smoak but seido.n any more,

And shall three four hundred more; If none but happy men must them adore.

l'l love each fair-ove that I see, Till I find one at la t that shall love me.

The lightning, which tall oaks oppose in vain,

To strike suinetimes does not disdaia That shall my Canaan be, the fatal soil

Tho bumble kurzes of the plain. That ends my wanderings and my toil :

She being so high, and I so low, I'll settle there, and happy grow;

Her power by this does greater show, The country dues with milk and honey flow. Who at such distance, gives so sure a blow.

Compar'd with her, all things so worthless prove, Yet when I die, my last breath shall
That nought on Earth can tow'rds her move, Grow bold, and plainly tell her all:
Till 't be exalted by her love.

Like covetous men, who ne'er descry
Equal to her, alas! there's none;

Their dear-bid treasures till they die. She like a deity is grown,

Ah, fairest maid! how will it cheer That must create, or else must be alone.

My ghost, to get from thee a tear! If there be man who thinks himself so high,

But take heed; for if me thou pitiest then, As to pretend equality,

Twenty to une but I shali live again. He deserves her less than 1;

For he would cheat for his relief; And one would give, with lesser grief,

TILE GIVEN HEART. T'an undeserving beggar than a thief.

I wonder what those lovers mean, who say

They’ave given their hearts away:

Some good kind lover, tell me how:

For mine is but a torment to me now.
No; thou 'rt a fool, I'll swear, if e'er thou grant;
Much of my veneration thou must want,

If so it be one place both hearts contain,
When once thy kindness puts my ignorance out;

For what do they complain? For a learn'd age is always least devout.

What courtesy can Love do more,
Keep still thy distance; for at once to me Than to join hearts that parted were before?
Goddess and woman too thou canst not be: Woe to her stubborn heart, if once mine come
Thou'rt queen of all that sees thee, and as such Into the self-same room;
Must neither tyrannize nor yield too much;

'Twill tear and blow up all within,
Such freedoms give as may admit command, Like a granado shot into a magazine.
But keep the forts and magazines in hand.
Thou 'rt yet a whole world to me, and dost fill

Then shall Love keep the ashes and torn parts

Of both our broken hearts; My large ambition ; but 'tis dangerous still,

Shall out of both one new one make, Lest I like the Pellæan prince should be, And weep for other worlds, having conquer'd thee: From her's th’allay, from mine the metal, take, When Love has taken all thou hast away,

For of her heart he from the flames will find His strength by too much riches will decay,

But little left behind :
Thou in my fancy dost much higher stand,

Mine only will remain entire ;
Than women can be plac'd by Nature's hand; No dross was there, to perish in the fire.
And I nust needs, I'm sure, a loser be,
To change thee, as thou’rt there, for very thee.
Thy swee' ness is so much within me plac'd,
That, should'st thou nectar give, 'twould spoil the



ch me to love! go teach thyself more wit; Beauty at first moves wonder and delight;

I chief professor am of it. 'Tis Nature's juggling trick to cheat the sight.

Teach craft to Scots, and thrift to Jews, W'admire it whilst unknown; but after, more

Teach boldness to the stews;
Admire ourselves for liking it before.
Love, like a greedy hawk, if we give way,

In tyrants' courts teach, supple flattery;

Teach Jesuits, that have travellid far, to lie; Does over-gorge himself with his own prey;

Teach fire to burn, and winds to blow, Of very hopes a surfeit he'll sustain,

Teach restless fountains how to flow, Unless by fears he cast them up again:

Teach the dull Earth fixt to abide, His spirit and sweetness dangers keep alone;

Teach women-kind inconstancy and pride: If ouce he lose his sting, he grows a drone.

See if your diligence here will useful prore;

But, pr’ythee, teach not me to love.

The god of love, if such a thing there be,

May learn to love from me;
Some others may with safety tell

He who does boast that he has been
The moderate flames which in them dwell; In every heart since Adan's sin;
And either find some med'cine there, I'll lay my life, nay mistress, on't, that's more,
Or cure themselves ev'n by despair ; I'll teach him things he rever knew before;
My love's so great, that it might prove

I'll teach him a receipt, to make
Dangerous to tell her that I love.

Words that weep, and tears that speak; So tender is my wound, it must not bear

l'll teach him sighs, like those in death, Any salute, though of the kindest air.

At which the souls go out too with the breath : I rould not have her know the pain,

Still the sunl stays, yet still does from me run,

As light and heat does with the Sun.
The torments, for her i sustain;
Lest too much goodness make her throw 'Tis I who Love's Columbus am ; 'lis I
Her love upon a fate too low.

Who must new worlds in it descry;
Furbd it, Heaven! my life should be

Rich worlds, that yield a treasure more
Weigli'it with her least conveniency:

Than all that has been known before. No, let me perish rather with my grief,

Anıl yet like his, I fear, my fate must be, Than, to her disadvantagc, find relief!

To find them out for others, not for me.

Me times to come, I know it, shall

Lust, the scorching dog-star, here Love's last and greatest prophet call;

Rages with immoderate heat; But, ah! what's that, if she refuse

Whilst Pride, the rugged northern bear, To hear the wholesome doctrines of my Muse;

In others makes the cold too great: If to my share the prophet's fate must come

And where these are temperate known, Hereafter fame, here martyrdom?

The soil's all bạrren sand or rocky stone.
When once or twice you chanc'd to view

A rich, well-govern'd heart,

Like China, it adınitted you

But to the frontier-part. The Devil take those foolish men

From Paradise shut for evermore, Who gave you first such powers;

What good is 't that an angel kept the door? We stvod on even grounds till then; If any odds, creation made it ours.

Well fare the pride, and the disdain,

And vanities, with beauty join'd; For shame, let these weak chains be broke;

I ne'er had seen this heart again, Let 's our slight bonds, like Samson, tear;

If any fair-one had been kind : And nobly cast away that yoke,

My dove, but once let loose, I doubt Which we nor our forefathers e'er could bear,

Would ne'er return, had not the food been out. French laws forbid the female reign; Yet Love does them to slavery draw:

THE HEART FLED AGAIN. Alas! if we'll our rights maintain, 'Tis all mankind must make a Salique law,

False, foolish Heart! didst thou nut say

That thou would'st never leave me more !

Behold! again 'tis fed away,

Fled as far from me as before.

I struve to bring it back again;
HA! ha! you think you ’ve kill'd my fame,

I cry'd and hollow'd after it in vain.
By this not understood, yet common, name:
A name that's full and proper, when assign'd

Ev'n so the gentle Tyrian dame,
To woman-kind;

When neither grief nor love prevail, But, when you call us so,

Saw the dear object of her flame,
It can at best but for a metaphor go.

Th’ ingrateful Trojan, hoist his sail :

call’d to him to stay ; Can you the shore inconstant call,

The wind bore him and her lost words away. Which still, as waves pass by, embraces all ;

The doleful Ariadne so, That had as lief the same waves always love,

On the wide shore forsaken stood : Did they not from him move?

“ False Theseus whither dost thou go?" Or can you fault with pilots find

Afar false Theseus cut the fiood. For changing course, yet never blame the wind ?

But Bacchus came to her relief; Since, drunk with vanity,, you fell,

Bacchus himself 's too weak to ease my grief. The things turn'd round to you that stedfast

Ab! senseless Heart, to take no rest, And you yourself, who from us take your flight,

But travel thus eternally! Wonder to find us out of sight.

Thus to be froz'n in every breast ! So the same errour seizes you,

And to be scorch'd in every eye!
As men in motion think the trees move too,

Wandering about like wretched Cain,
Thrust-out, ill-us’d, by all, but by none slain !

Well, since thou wilt not here remain,

I'll e'en to live without thee try;
Go, let the fatted calf be kiild;

My head shall take the greater pain,

And all thy duties shall supply:
My prodigal 's come home at last,
With noble resolutions fillid,

I can more easily live, I know,
And fill’d with sorrow for the past :

Without thee, than without a mistress thou. No more will burn with love or wine; But quite has left his women and his swine.

WOMEN'S SUPERSTITION. Welcome, ah! welcome, my poor Heart ! Or I'm a very dunce, or woman-kind

Welcome! I little thought, I'll swear Is a most unintelligible thing : ('Tis now so long since we did part)

I can no sense nor no contexture find, Ever again to see thee here:

Nor their loose parts to method bring: Dear wanderer! since from me you fled, I know not what the learn'd may see, How often-have I heard that thou wert dead ! Put they ’re strange Hebrew things to me, Hast thou not found each woman's breast By customs and traditions they live, -(The lands where thou hast travelled)

And foolish ceremonies of antique date; Either by savages possest,

We lovers, new and better doctrines give, Or wild, and uninhabited ?

Yet they continue obstinate: What joy could'st take, or what repose, Preach we, Love's prophets, what we will, In countries so unciviliz'd as those ?

Like Jews, they keep their old law still,

dwell ;


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