IS a ftrange kind of ignorance this in you!

That you your victories fhould not fly,

Victories gotten by your eye!

That your bright beams, as thofe of comets do, Should kill, but not know how, nor who!

That truly you my idol might appear,

Whilft all the people fmell and fee
The odorous flames I offer thee,

Thou fitt'ft, and doft not fee, nor imell, nor hear,
Thy conftant, zealous worshiper.

They fee't too well who at my fires repine;

Nay, th' unconcern'd themselves do prove
Quick-eyed enough to fpy my love;

Nor does the caufe in thy face clearlier fhine,
Than the effect appears in mine,
Fair infidel! by what unjuft decree

Muft I, who with fuch reftlefs care
Would make this truth to thee appear,
Muft I, who preach it, and pray for it, be

Damn'd by thy incredulity?

I, by thy unbelief, am guiltless flain:

Oh, have but faith, and then, that you May know that faith for to be true, it fhall itself by a miracle maintain,

And raife me from the dead again!

Meanwhile my hopes may feem to be o'erthrown;
But lovers' hopes are full of art,
And thus difpute-That, fince my heart,
Though in thy breaft, yet is not by thee known,
Perhaps thou may it not know thine own.

THE GAZERS.

NOME, let's go on, where love and youth does

COME, all;

I've feen too much, if this be all.

Alas! how far more wealthy might I be
With a contented ignorant poverty!

To fhew fuch ftorcs, and nothing grant,
Is to enrage and vex my want.

For love to die an infant's leffer ill,

Than to live long, yet live in childhood still.

We 'ave both fat gazing only hitherto,
As man and wife in picture do;
The richest crop of joy is ftill behind,
And he who only fees, in love, is blind.
So, at firft, Pygmalion lov'd,

But th' amour at last improv'd;
The flatue itself at laft a woman grew,
And fo at last, my dear, fhould you do too.

Beauty to man the greatest torture is,
Unlefs it lead to farther blifs,
Beyond the tyrannous pleafures of the eye;
It grows too ferious a cruelty,

Unless it heal, as well as ftrike;

I would not, falamander-like,

In fcorching heats always to live desire,
But, like a martyr, pass to heaven through fire.
Mark how the lufty fun falutes the spring,
And gently kiffes every thing!

His loving beams unlock each maiden flower,
Scarch all the treasures, all the fweets devour:
Then on the earth, with bridegroom-heat,
He does ftill new flowers beget.

The fun himself, although all eye he be,
Can find in love more pleafure than to fee.

I

THE INCURABLE..

TRY'D if books would cure my love, but found

Love made them nonfenfe all;

I 'apply'd receipts of business to my wound,
But ftirring did the pain recall.

As well might men who in a fever fry,
Mathematic doubts debate;
As well might men who mad in darkness lie,
Write the dispatches of a ftatc.

I try'd devotion, fermons, frequent prayer,
But thofe did worfe than useless prove;
For prayers are turn'd to fin, in thofe who are
Out of charity, or in love.

I try'd in wine to drown the mighty care;
But wine, alas! was oil to th' fire:
Like drunkards' eyes, my troubled fancy there
Did double the defire.

I try'd what mirth and gaiety would do,
And mix'd with pleafant companies;
My mirth did graceless and infipid grow,
And 'bove a clinch it could not rife.

Nay, God forgive me for 't! at last 1 try'd,
'Gainft this fome new defire to stir,
And lov'd again, but 'twas where I efpy'd
Some faint refemblances of her.

The phyfic made me worfe, with which I ftrove
This mortal ill t' expel:

As wholefome medicines the difeafe improve,
There where they work not well.

What's this, ye Gods! what can it be?
Remains there ftill an enemy?

Bold Honour stands up in the gate,
And would yet capitulate;
Have I o'ercome all real foes,
And fhall this phantom me oppofe?

Noify nothing! ftalking fhade!

By what witchcraft wert thou made?
Empty caufe of folid harms!

But I fhall find out counter-charms,
Thy airy devilfhip to remove
From this circle here of love.

Sure I fhall rid myself of thee
By the night's obfcurity,
And obfcurer fecrecy!
Unlike to every other fprite,

Thou attempt'ft not men t' affright,
Nor appear'ft but in the light.

THE INNOCENT ILL

THOUGH all thy geftures and difcourfes be
Coin'd and stamp'd by modefty;

Though from thy tongue ne'er flipp'd away
One word which nuns at th' altar might not say;
Yet fuch a fwectnefs, fuch a grace,
In all thy fpeech appear,

That what to th' eye a beauteous face,
That thy tongue to th' ear:

So cunningly it wounds the heart,
It strikes fuch heat through every part,

That thou a tempter worse than Satan art.

Though in thy thoughts fcarce any tracks have been

So much as of original fin,

Such charms thy beauty wears as might

Defires in dying confefs'd faints excite :

Thou with ftrange adultery,

Doft in each breaft a brothel keep;
Awake all men do luft for thee,

And fome enjoy thee when they fleep.
Ne'er before did woman live,
Who to fuch multitudes did give

The root and caufe of fin, but only Eve.

Though in thy breaft fo quick a pity be,

That a fly's death's a wound to thee; Though favage and rock-hearted thofe Appear, that weep not ev'n Romance's woes; Yet ne'er before was tyrant known, Whofe rage was of fo large extent; The ills thou doft are whole thine own; Thou 'rt principal and inftrument: In all the deaths that come from you, You do the treble office do

Of judge, of torturer, and of weapon too.

Thou lovely inftrument of angry Fate,

Which God did for our faults create!
Thou pleasant, univerfal ill,

Which, fweet as health, yet like a plague doft kill!

Thou kind, well-natur'd tyranny!
Thou chafte committer of a rape!
Thou voluntary destiny,

Which no man can, or would, efcape!
So gentle, and fo glad to spare,
So wondrous good, and wondrous fair,
(We know) ev'n the destroying-angels are.

She.

W

DIALOGUE.

THAT have we done? what cruel paffion mov'd thee,

Thus to ruin her that lov'd thee?

Me thou' robb'd; but what art thou
Thyfelf the richer now?

Shame fucceeds the fhort-liv'd pleasure ; So foon is fpent, and gone, this thy ill-gotten treasure!

He. We have dene no harm; nor was it theft in me,

But nobleft charity in thee.
I'll the well-gotten pleasure
Safe in my memory treasure :

What though the flower itself do wafte, The effence from it drawn does long and sweeter

Like tapers fhut in ancient urns,

Unless it let-in air, for ever fhines and burns.

She. Thou first, perhaps, who didft the fault commit,

Wilt make thy wicked boaft of it; For men, with Roman pride, above The conqueft do the triumph love; Nor think a perfect victory gain'd, Unless they through the ftreets their captive lead enchain'd.

He. Whoe'er his fecret joys has open laid, The bawd to his own wife is made; Eefide, what boaft is left for me, Whofe whole wealth's a gift from thee? 'Tis you the conqueror are, 'tis you Who have not only ta'en, but bound and gagg'd

me too.

She. Though public punishment we escape, the fin
Will rack and torture us within:
Guilt and fin our bofom bears;

And, though fair yet the fruit appears,

That worm which now the core docs wafte, When long 't has gnaw'd within, will break the fkin at laft.

thee.

And all with as much eafe might taken be,
As the at first took me ;
For ne'er did light fo clear
Among the waves appear,

now;

And yet I'm fure I love thee too!

I'm angry; but my wrath will

prove

VERSES UPON A LOST WAGER.

S foon hereafter will I wagers lay
'Gainft what an oracle fhall fay;
Fool that I was, to venture to deny
A tongue fo us'd to victory!

A tongue fo bleft by nature and by art,
That never yet it fpoke but gain'd an heart:
Though what you faid had not been true,
If fpoke by any elfe but you;
Your fpeech will govern destiny,

And Fate will change rather than you should ¡ye.

"Tis true, if human Reafon were the guide,
Reafon, methinks, was on my fide;
But that's a guide, alas! we must refign,
When th' authority's divine.

She faid, the faid herfelf it would be fo;
And I, bold unbeliever! anfwer'd po:
Never fo justly, fure, before,
Error the name of blindnefs bore;
For, what foe'er the question be,
There's no man that has eyes would bet for me.

If Truth itself (as other angels do

When they defcend to human view) In a material form would deign to fhine, "Twould imitate or borrow thine:

So dazzling bright, yet fo tranfparent clear,
So well-proportion'd would the parts appear!
Happy the eye which Truth could fee
Cloath'd in a fhape like thee;
But happier far the eye

Which could thy fhape naked like Truth efpy!

Yet this loft wager cofts me nothing more
Than what I ow'd to thee before:
Who would not venture for that debt to play,
Which he were bound howe'er to pay?
If Nature gave me power to write in verse,
She gave it me thy praifes to rehearse :

Thy wondrous beauty and thy wit
Has fuch a fovereign right to it,
That no man's Mufe for public vent is free,
Till fhe has paid her customs first to thee.

Why to mute fish should'ft thou thyself difcover,
And not to me, thy no lefs filent lover?

As fome from men their buried gold commit
To ghofts, that have no ufe of it;
Half their rich treasures fo

Maids bury; and, for aught we know,
(Poor ignorants!) they're mermaids all below.
The amorous waves would fain about her stay,
But ftill new amorous waves drive them away,
And with swift current to thofe joys they haste,
That do as fwiftly wafte:

I laugh'd the wanton play to view;
But 'tis, alas! at land fo too,
And fill old lovers yield the place to new.

Kifs her, and as you part, you amorous waves
(My happier rivals, and my fellow-flaves)
Point to your flowery banks, and to her shew
The good your bounties do;

Then tell her what your pride doth cost,
And how your ufe and beauty's loft,
When rigorous winter binds you up with froft.
Tell her, her beauties and her youth, like thee,
Hafte without ftop to a devouring sea;
Where they will mix'd and undiftinguish'd lie
With all the meaneft things that die;
As in the ocean thou

No privilege doft know

gain.

in tears.

Refolve then on it, and by force or art

Free thy unlucky heart;

Since Fate does disapprove

Th' ambition of thy love,

Metals grow within the mine, Luscious grapes upon the vine; Still the needle marks the pole ; Parts are equal to the whole :

part.

If e'er I clear my heart from this defire,

Ife'er it home to its breaft retire,
It ne'er fhall wander more about,
Though thousand beauties call it out:

A lover burnt like me for ever dreads the fire.

The

pox, the plague, and every small disease,
May come as oft as ill-fate please;

But death and love are never found
To give a fecond wound,

We're by thofe ferpents bit, but we're devour'd by thefe.

Alas! what comfort is 't that I am grown
Secure of being again o'erthrown?
Since fuch an enemy needs not fear
Left any elfe fhould quarter there,

Quickens all, below, above.

Man is born to live and die,
Snakes to creep, and birds to fly;
Fishes in the waters fwim,

Doves are mild, and lions grim:
Nature thus, below, above,
Pushes all things on to Love.

Does the cedar love the mountain?
Or the thirsty deer the fountain?
Does the fhepherd love his crook?
Or the willow court the brook?
Thus by Nature all things move,
Like a running stream, to Love.

Is the valiant hero bold?
Does the mifer doat on gold?
Seek the birds in fpring to pair?

the town.

Should you this deny, you 'll prove Nature is averfe to Love.

As the wencher loves a lafs,

THE

FORCE OF LOVE. PRESERVED FROM AN OLD MANUSCRIPT.

"HROW an apple up a hill,

THR

Down the apple tumbles still;

Roll it down, it never stops
Till within the vale it drops:
So are all things prone to Love,
All below, and all above.

Down the mountain flows the stream,
Up afcends the lambent flame;
Smoke and vapour mount the skies;
All preferve their unities;
Nought below, and nought above,
Seems averfe, but prone to Love.

Stop the meteor in its flight,
Or the orient rays of light;
Bid Dan Phoebus not to fhine,
Bid the planets not incline:
'Tis as vain, below, above,
To impede the course of Love.

Salamanders live in fire,
Eagles to the skies aspire,
Diamonds in their quarries lie,
Rivers do the fea Lupply:
Thus appears, below, above,
A propensity to Love.

As the toper loves his glafs, As the friar loves his cowl,