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The virgin rose, that untouch'd stands,
Such fate, cre long, will thee betide,
NOT, CELIA, that I juster am
Or truer than the rest;
For I would change each hour like them,
But I'm so fixt alone to thee
By every thought I have,
That should you now my heart set free, →T would be again your slave.
All that in woman is adored
Not to my virtue, but thy power,
Ir is not, CELIA, in our power
To say how long our love will last;
May lose the joys we now do taste: The blessed that immortal be
From change of love are only free.
Were it not madness to deny
Then since we mortal lovers are,
Ask not how long our love will last;"
But while it does, let us take care
Each minute be with pleasure past: T
SAY, MYRA, why is gentle love
Is it because you fear to share
Alas! by some degree of woe
AWAKE, awake, my lyre!
And tell thy silent master's humble tale
Though so exalted she,
Tell her such different notes make all thy harmony.
Hark! how the strings awake:
And though the moving hand approach not near, Themselves with awful fear
A kind of numerous trembling make.
Now all thy charms apply,
Revenge upon her ear the conquests of her eye.
Weak lyre! thy virtue sure
Is useless here, since thou art only found
And she to wound, but not to cure.
Too weak too thou wilt prove
Physic to other ills, thou'rt nourishment to love.
Sleep, sleep again, my lyre!
For thou canst never tell my humble tale
Nor gentle thoughts in her inspire:
All thy vain mirth lay by,
Sleep, sleep again, my lyre, and let thy master die.*
TO MY LUTE.
WHAT shade and what stillness around!
The virgin may wake to thy strain,
And be sooth'd, nay, be pleased with thy song; Alas! she may pity the swain,
And fancy his sorrows too long.
Could thy voice give a smile to her cheek,
This song or ode is given in the "Davideis" as addressed by David to Saul's daughter, Michal. It is one of the proofs that Cowley, when not unhappily an imitator of Donne and the rest of the metaphysical school, was capable of all the elegance and harmony properly belonging to lyrical poetry.