POEMS

Since thou hast view'd some Gorgon, and art grown A solid stone: To bring again to softness thy hard heart Is past my art. Ice may relent to water in a thaw; But stone made flesh Loves Chymistry ne're saw. Therefore by thinking on thy hardness, I Will petrify; And so within our double Quarryes Wombe, 10Dig our Loves Tombe. Thus strangely will our difference agree; And, with our selves, amaze the world, to see How both Revenge and Sympathy consent To make two Rocks each others Monument.

When first the magic of thine eye, Usurp'd upon my liberty, Triumphing in my heart's spoil, thou Didst lock up thine in such a vow; When I prove false, may the bright day Be governed by the Moon's pale ray! (As I too well remember.) This Thou said'st, and seal'dst it with a kiss. O Heavens! and could so soon that tie 10Relent in slack apostacy? Could all thy oaths, and mortgag'd trust, Vanish? like letters form'd in dust Which the next wind scatters. Take heed, Take heed, Revolter; know this deed Hath wrong'd the world, which will fare worse By thy example than thy curse. Hide that false brow in mists. Thy shame Ne'er see light more, but the dim flame Of funeral lamps. Thus sit and moan, 20And learn to keep thy guilt at home. Give it no vent; for if again Thy Love or Vows betray more men, At length (I fear) thy perjur'd breath Will blow out day, and waken Death.

When your fair hand receives this little book You must not there for prose or verses look. Those empty regions which within you see, May by yourself planted and peopled be: And though we scarce allow your sex to prove Writers (unless the argument be Love); Yet without crime or envy you have room Here, both the scribe and author to become.

If in this Glass of Humours you do find The passions or diseases of your mind, Here without pain, you safely may endure, Though not to suffer, yet to read your cure. But if you nothing meet you can apply, Then, ere you need, you have a remedy. And I do wish you never may have cause To be adjudg'd by these fantastic laws; But that this book's example may be known, 10By others' Melancholy, not your own.

Farewell, fond Love, under whose childish whip, I have serv'd out a weary prenti'ship; Thou that hast made me thy scorn'd property, To doat on rocks, but yielding loves to fly: Go, bane of my dear quiet and content, Now practise on some other patient. Farewell, false Hope, that fann'd my warm desire Till it had rais'd a wild unruly fire, Which nor sighs cool, nor tears extinguish can, 10Although my eyes out-flow'd the Ocean: Forth of my thoughts for ever, Thing of Air, Begun in error, finish'd in despair. Farewell, vain World, upon whose restless stage 'Twixt Love and Hope I have fool'd out my age; Henceforth, ere sue to thee for my redress, I'll woo the wind, or court the wilderness; And buried from the day's discovery, Study a slow yet certain way to die. My woful monument shall be a cell, 20The murmur of the purling brook my knell; My lasting epitaph the rock shall groan: Thus when sad lovers ask the weeping stone, What wretched thing does in that centre lie? The hollow Echo will reply, 'twas I.

To doat on those that lov'd not and to fly Love that woo'd me. Go, bane of my content, And practise ...

And for an epitaph the rock shall groan Eternally: if any ask the stone.

Stay, lovely boy, why fly'st thou me That languish in these flames for thee? I'm black, 'tis true: why so is Night, And Love doth in dark shades delight. The whole world, do but close thine eye, Will seem to thee as black as I; Or ope 't, and see what a black shade Is by thine own fair body made, That follows thee where'er thou go; 10(O who, allow'd, would not do so?) Let me for ever dwell so nigh, And thou shall need no other shade than I. Mr. Hen. Rainolds.

Black maid, complain not that I fly, When Fate commands antipathy: Prodigious might that union prove, Where Night and Day together move, And the conjunction of our lips Not kisses make, but an eclipse; In which the mixed black and white Portends more terror than delight. Yet if my shadow thou wilt be, 10Enjoy thy dearest wish: but see Thou take my shadow's property, That hastes away when I come nigh: Else stay till death hath blinded me, And then I will bequeath myself to thee.

I know no fitter subject for your view Than this, a meditation ripe for you, As you for it. Which, when you read, you'll see What kind of wife yourself will one day be: Which happy day be near you, and may this Remain with you as earnest of my wish; When you so far love any, that you dare Venture your whole affection on his care, May he for whom you change your virgin-life 10Prove good to you, and perfect as this Wife.

Madam, who understands you well would swear, That you the Life, and this your Copy were.

Not that I would instruct or tutor you What is a wife's behest, or husband's due, Give I this Widow-Wife. Your early date Of knowledge makes such precepts slow and late. This book is but your glass, where you shall see What yourself are, what other wives should be.

This pile thou seest built out of flesh, not stone, Contains no shroud within, nor mould'ring bone. This bloodless trunk is destitute of tomb Which may the soul-fled mansion enwomb. This seeming sepulchre (to tell the troth) Is neither tomb nor body, and yet both.

In this small character is sent My Love's eternal monument. Whilst we shall live, know this chain'd heart Is our affection's counterpart. And if we never meet, think I Bequeath'd it as my legacy.

Tell me no more how fair she is, I have no mind to hear The story of that distant bliss I never shall come near: By sad experience I have found That her perfection is my wound. And tell me not how fond I am To tempt a daring Fate, From whence no triumph ever came, 10But to repent too late: There is some hope ere long I may In silence dote myself away. I ask no pity, Love, from thee, Nor will thy justice blame, So that thou wilt not envy me The glory of my flame: Which crowns my heart whene'er it dies, In that it falls her sacrifice.

Were thy heart soft as thou art fair, Thou wer't a wonder past compare: But frozen Love and fierce disdain By their extremes thy graces stain. Cold coyness quenches the still fires Which glow in lovers' warm desires; And scorn, like the quick lightning's blaze, Darts death against affections gaze. O Heavens, what prodigy is this 10When Love in Beauty buried is! Or that dead pity thus should be Tomb'd in a living cruelty.

Go, thou that vainly dost mine eyes invite To taste the softer comforts of the night, And bid'st me cool the fever of my brain In those sweet balmy dews which slumber pain; Enjoy thine own peace in untroubled sleep, Whilst my sad thoughts eternal vigils keep. O couldst thou for a time change breasts with me, Thou in that broken glass shouldst plainly see A heart which wastes in the slow smoth'ring fire 10Blown by Despair, and fed by false Desire, Can only reap such sleeps as sea-men have, When fierce winds rock them on the foaming wave.

Blown by Despair, and fed by false Desire

Down, stormy passions, down; no more Let your rude waves invade the shore Where blushing reason sits, and hides Her from the fury of your tides. Fit only 'tis, where you bear sway, That fools or frantics do obey; Since judgement, if it not resists, Will lose itself in your blind mists. Fall easy, Patience, fall like rest 10Whose soft spells charm a troubled breast: And where those rebels you espy, O in your silken cordage tie Their malice up! so shall I raise Altars to thank your power, and praise The sovereign vertue of your balm, Which cures a tempest by a calm.

Peace, my heart's blab, be ever dumb, Sorrows speak loud without a tongue: And, my perplexed thoughts, forbear To breathe yourselves in any ear: 'Tis scarce a true or manly grief, Which gads abroad to find relief. Was ever stomach that lack'd meat Nourish'd by what another eat? Can I bestow it, or will woe 10Forsake me, when I bid it go? Then I'll believe a wounded breast May heal by shrift, and purchase rest. But if, imparting it, I do Not ease myself, but trouble two, 'Tis better I alone possess My treasure of unhappiness: Engrossing that which is my own No longer than it is unknown. If silence be a kind of death, 20He kindles grief who gives it breath; But let it rak'd in embers lie, On thine own hearth 'twill quickly die: And spite of fate, that very womb Which carries it, shall prove its tomb.

Fond Lunatic forbear, why dost thou sue For thy affection's pay ere it is due? Love's fruits are legal use; and therefore may Be only taken on the marriage day. Who for this interest too early call, By that exaction lose the principal. Then gather not those immature delights, Until their riper autumn thee invites. He that abortive corn cuts off his ground, 10No husband but a ravisher is found: So those that reap their love before they wed, Do in effect but cuckold their own bed.

How long, vain Hope, dost thou my joys suspend? Say! must my expectation know no end? Thou wast more kind unto the wand'ring Greek Who did ten years his wife and country seek: Ten lazy winters in my glass are run, Yet my thought's travail seems but new begun. Smooth quicksand which the easy world beguiles, Thou shall not bury me in thy false smiles. They that in hunting shadows pleasure take, 10May benefit of thy illusion make. Since thou hast banish'd me from my content I here pronounce thy final banishment. Farewell, thou dream of nothing! thou mere voice! Get thee to fools that can feed fat with noise: Bid wretches mark'd for death look for reprieve, Or men broke on the wheel persuade to live. Henceforth my comfort and best hope shall be, By scorning Hope, ne'er to rely on thee.

Pursue no more (my thoughts!) that false unkind, You may as soon imprison the North-wind; Or catch the lightning as it leaps; or reach The leading billow first ran down the breach; Or undertake the flying clouds to track In the same path they yesterday did rack. Then, like a torch turn'd downward, let the same Desire which nourish'd it, put out your flame. Lo! thus I do divorce thee from my breast, 10False to thy vow, and traitor to my rest! Henceforth thy tears shall be (though thou repent) Like pardons after execution sent. Nor shalt thou ever my love's story read, But as some epitaph of what is dead. So may my hope on future blessings dwell, As 'tis my firm resolve and last farewell.

Tell me, you stars that our affections move, Why made ye me that cruel one to love? Why burns my heart her scorned sacrifice, Whose breast is hard as crystal, cold as ice? God of Desire! if all thy votaries Thou thus repay, succession will grow wise; No sighs for incense at thy shrine shall smoke, Thy rites will be despis'd, thy altars broke. O! or give her my flame to melt that snow 10Which yet unthaw'd does on her bosom grow; Or make me ice, and with her crystal chains Bind up all love within my frozen veins.

I prithee turn that face away Whose splendour but benights my day. Sad eyes like mine, and wounded hearts Shun the bright rays which beauty darts. Unwelcome is the Sun that pries Into those shades where sorrow lies. Go, shine on happy things. To me That blessing is a misery: Whom thy fierce Sun not warms, but burns, 10Like that the sooty Indian turns. I'll serve the night, and there confin'd Wish thee less fair, or else more kind.

Dry those fair, those crystal eyes, Which like growing fountains rise To drown their banks. Grief's sullen brooks Would better flow in furrow'd looks. Thy lovely face was never meant To be the shore of discontent. Then clear those wat'rish stars again Which else portend a lasting rain; Lest the clouds which settle there 10Prolong my winter all the year: And the example others make In love with sorrow for thy sake.

When I entreat, either thou wilt not hear, Or else my suit arriving at thy ear Cools and dies there. A strange extremity! To freeze i' th' Sun, and in the shade to fry. Whilst all my blasted hopes decline so soon, 'Tis evening with me, though at high noon. For pity to thyself, if not to me, Think time will ravish, what I lose, from thee. If my scorch'd heart wither through thy delay, 10Thy beauty withers too. And swift decay Arrests thy youth. So thou whilst I am slighted Wilt be too soon with age or sorrow nighted.

Lady, your art or wit could ne'er devise To shame me more than in this night's surprise. Why, I am quite unready, and my eye Now winking like my candle, doth deny To guide my hand, if it had aught to write; Nor can I make my drowsy sense indite Which by your verses' music (as a spell Sent from the Sybellean Oracle) Is charm'd and bound in wonder and delight, 10Faster than all the leaden chains of night. What pity is it then you should so ill Employ the bounty of your flowing quill, As to expend on him your bedward thought, Who can acknowledge that large love in nought But this lean wish; that fate soon send you those Who may requite your rhymes with midnight prose? Meantime, may all delights and pleasing themes Like masquers revel in your maiden dreams, Whilst dull to write, and to do more unmeet, 20I, as the night invites me, fall asleep.

Doubtless the Thespian Spring doth overflow His learned bank: else how should ladies grow Such poets as to court th' unknowing time In verse, and entertain their friends in rhyme? Or you some Sybil are, sent to untie The knotty riddles of all poetry, Whilst your smooth numbers such perfections tell As prove yourself a modern oracle.

But is it true, the Court mislik'd the play, That Christ Church and the Arts have lost the day; That Ignoramus should so far excel, Their hobby-horse from ours hath born the bell? Troth! you are justly serv'd, that would present Ought unto them, but shallow merriment; Or to your marriage-table did admit Guests that are stronger far in smell than wit. Had some quaint bawdry larded ev'ry scene, 10Some fawning sycophant, or courted quean; Had there appear'd some sharp cross-garter'd man Whom their loud laugh might nickname Puritan, Cas'd up in factious breeches and small ruff, That hates the surplice, and defies the cuff: Then sure they would have given applause to crown That which their ignorance did now cry down. Let me advise, when next you do bestow Your pains on men that do but little know, You do no Chorus nor a comment lack, 20Which may expound and construe ev'ry Act: That it be short and slight; for if 't be good Tis long, and neither lik'd nor understood. Know 'tis Court fashion still to discommend All that which they want brain to comprehend.

My once dear Love! hapless that I no more Must call thee so; the rich affection's store That fed our hopes, lies now exhaust and spent, Like sums of treasure unto bankrupts lent. We, that did nothing study but the way To love each other, with which thoughts the day Rose with delight to us, and with them, set, Must learn the hateful art, how to forget. We, that did nothing wish that Heav'n could give, 10Beyond ourselves, nor did desire to live Beyond that wish, all these now cancel must, As if not writ in faith, but words and dust. Yet witness those clear vows which lovers make, Witness the chaste desires that never brake Into unruly heats; witness that breast Which in thy bosom anchor'd his whole rest, 'Tis no default in us; I dare acquite Thy maiden faith, thy purpose fair and white, As thy pure self. Cross planets did envy 20Us to each other, and Heaven did untie Faster than vows could bind. O that the stars, When lovers meet, should stand oppos'd in wars! Since then some higher Destinies command, Let us not strive nor labour to withstand What is past help. The longest date of grief Can never yield a hope of our relief; And though we waste ourselves in moist laments, Tears may drown us, but not our discontents. Fold back our arms, take home our fruitless loves, 30That must new fortunes try, like turtle-doves Dislodged from their haunts. We must in tears Unwind a love knit up in many years. In this last kiss I here surrender thee Back to thyself, so thou again art free. Thou in another, sad as that, resend The truest heart that lover ere did lend. Now turn from each. So fare our sever'd hearts, As the divorc'd soul from her body parts.

My dearest Love! when thou and I must part, And th' icy hand of death shall seize that heart Which is all thine; within some spacious will I'll leave no blanks for legacies to fill: 'Tis my ambition to die one of those, Who, but himself, hath nothing to dispose. And since that is already thine, what need I to re-give it by some newer deed? Yet take it once again. Free circumstance 10Does oft the value of mean things advance: Who thus repeats what he bequeath'd before, Proclaims his bounty richer than his store. But let me not upon my love bestow What is not worth the giving. I do owe Somewhat to dust: my body's pamper'd care, Hungry corruption and the worm will share. That mould'ring relic which in earth must lie, Would prove a gift of horror to thine eye. With this cast rag of my mortality, 20Let all my faults and errors buried be. And as my cere-cloth rots, so may kind fate Those worst acts of my life incinerate. He shall in story fill a glorious room, Whose ashes and whose sins sleep in one tomb. If now to my cold hearse thou deign to bring Some melting sighs as thy last offering, My peaceful exequies are crown'd. Nor shall I ask more honour at my funeral. Thou wilt more richly balm me with thy tears, 30Than all the nard fragrant Arabia bears. And as the Paphian Queen by her grief's show'r Brought up her dead Love's spirit in a flow'r: So by those precious drops rain'd from thine eyes, Out of my dust, O may some virtue rise! And like thy better Genius thee attend, Till thou in my dark period shall end. Lastly, my constant truth let me commend To him thou choosest next to be thy friend. For (witness all things good) I would not have 40Thy youth and beauty married to my grave, 'T would show thou didst repent the style of wife, Shouldst thou relapse into a single life. They with preposterous grief the world delude, Who mourn for their lost mates in solitude; Since widowhood more strongly doth enforce The much lamented lot of their divorce. Themselves then of their losses guilty are, Who may, yet will not, suffer a repair. Those were barbarian wives, that did invent 50Weeping to death at th' husband's monument; But in more civil rites she doth approve Her first, who ventures on a second love; For else it may be thought, if she refrain, She sped so ill, she durst not try again. Up then, my Love, and choose some worthier one, Who may supply my room when I am gone; So will the stock of our affection thrive No less in death, than were I still alive. And in my urn I shall rejoice, that I 60Am both testator thus and legacy.

Like an oblation set before a shrine, Fair one! I offer up this heart of mine. Whether the Saint accept my gift or no, I'll neither fear nor doubt before I know. For he whose faint distrust prevents reply, Doth his own suit's denial prophesy. Your will the sentence is; who free as Fate Can bid my love proceed, or else retreat. And from short views that verdict is decreed 10Which seldom doth one audience exceed. Love asks no dull probation, but like light Conveys his nimble influence at first sight. I need not therefore importune or press; This were t' extort unwilling happiness: And much against affection might I sin: To tire and weary what I seek to win. Towns which by ling'ring siege enforced be Oft make both sides repent the victory. Be Mistress of yourself: and let me thrive 20Or suffer by your own prerogative. Yet stay, since you are Judge, who in one breath Bear uncontrolled power of Life and Death, Remember (Sweet) pity doth best become Those lips which must pronounce a suitor's doom. If I find that, my spark of chaste desire Shall kindle into Hymen's holy fire: Else like sad flowers will these verses prove, To stick the coffin of rejected Love.

Now that each feather'd chorister doth sing The glad approaches of the welcome Spring: Now Phœbus darts forth his more early beam And dips it later in the curled stream, I should to custom prove a retrograde Did I still dote upon my sullen shade. Oft have the seasons finish'd and begun; Days into months, those into years have run, Since my cross stars and inauspicious fate 10Doom'd me to linger here without my mate Whose loss ere since befrosting my desire, Left me an Altar without gift or fire. I therefore could have wish'd for your own sake That Fortune had design'd a nobler stake For you to draw, than one whose fading day Like to a dedicated taper lay Within a tomb, and long burnt out in vain, Since nothing there saw better by the flame. Yet since you like your chance, I must not try 20To mar it through my incapacity. I here make title to it, and proclaim How much you honour me to wear my name; Who can no form of gratitude devise, But offer up myself your sacrifice. Hail, then, my worthy lot! and may each morn Successive springs of joy to you be born: May your content ne'er wane until my heart Grown bankrupt, wants good wishes to impart. Henceforth I need not make the dust my shrine, Nor search the grave for my lost Valentine.

But say, thou very woman, why to me This fit of weakness and inconstancy? What forfeit have I made of word or vow, That I am rack'd on thy displeasure now? If I have done a fault, I do not shame To cite it from thy lips, give it a name: I ask the banes, stand forth, and tell me why We should not in our wonted loves comply? Did thy cloy'd appetite urge thee to try 10If any other man could love as I? I see friends are like clothes, laid up whilst new, But after wearing cast, though ne'er so true. Or did thy fierce ambition long to make Some lover turn a martyr for thy sake? Thinking thy beauty had deserv'd no name Unless someone do perish in that flame: Upon whose loving dust this sentence lies, Here 's one was murther'd by his mistress' eyes. Or was't because my love to thee was such, 20I could not choose but blab it? swear how much I was thy slave, and doting let thee know, I better could myself than thee forgo. Hearken! ye men that e'er shall love like me, I'll give you counsel gratis: if you be Possess'd of what you like, let your fair friend Lodge in your bosom, but no secrets send To seek their lodging in a female breast; For so much is abated of your rest. The steed that comes to understand his strength 30Grows wild, and casts his manager at length: And that tame lover who unlocks his heart Unto his mistress, teaches her an art To plague himself; shows her the secret way How she may tyrannize another day. And now, my fair Unkindness, thus to thee; Mark how wise Passion and I agree: Hear and be sorry for't. I will not die To expiate thy crime of levity: I walk (not cross-arm'd neither), eat, and live, 40Yea live to pity thy neglect, not grieve That thou art from thy faith and promise gone, Nor envy him who by my loss hath won. Thou shalt perceive thy changing Moon-like fits Have not infected me, or turn'd my wits To lunacy. I do not mean to weep When I should eat, or sigh when I should sleep; I will not fall upon my pointed quill, Bleed ink and poems, or invention spill To contrive ballads, or weave elegies 50For nurses' wearing when the infant cries. Nor like th' enamour'd Tristrams of the time, Despair in prose and hang myself in rhyme. Nor thither run upon my verses' feet, Where I shall none but fools or madmen meet, Who midst the silent shades, and myrtle walks, Pule and do penance for their mistress' faults. I'm none of those poetic malcontents Born to make paper dear with my laments: Or wild Orlando that will rail and vex, 60And for thy sake fall out with all the sex. No, I will love again, and seek a prize That shall redeem me from thy poor despise. I'll court my fortune now in such a shape That will no faint dye, nor starv'd colour take. Thus launch I off with triumph from thy shore, To which my last farewell; for never more Will I touch there. I put to sea again Blown with the churlish wind of thy disdain. Nor will I stop this course till I have found 70A coast that yields safe harbour, and firm ground. Smile, ye Love-Stars; wing'd with desire I fly, To make my wishes' full discovery: Nor doubt I but for one that proves like you, I shall find ten as fair, and yet more true.

I have oft wond'red why thou didst elect Thy mistress of a stuff none could affect, That wore his eyes in the right place. A thing Made up, when Nature's powers lay slumbering. One, where all pregnant imperfections met To make her sex's scandal: Teeth of jet, Hair dy'd in orp'ment, from whose fretful hue Canidia her highest witchcrafts drew. A lip most thin and pale, but such a mouth 10Which like the poles is stretched North and South A face so colour'd, and of such a form, As might defiance bid unto a storm: And the complexion of her sallow hide Like a wrack'd body wash'd up by the tide: Eyes small: a nose so to her vizard glued As if 'twould take a Planet's altitude. Last for her breath, 'tis somewhat like the smell That does in Ember weeks on Fish-street dwell; Or as a man should fasting scent the Rose 20Which in the savoury Bear-garden grows. If a Fox cures the paralytical, Hadst thou ten palsies, she'd outstink them all. But I have found thy plot: sure thou didst try To put thyself past hope of jealousy: And whilst unlearned fools the senses please, Thou cur'st thy appetite by a disease; As many use, to kill an itch withal, Quicksilver or some biting mineral. Dote upon handsome things each common man 30With little study and less labour can; But to make love to a deformity, Only commends thy great ability, Who from hard-favour'd objects draw'st content, As estriches from iron nutriment. Well, take her, and like mounted George, in bed Boldly achieve thy Dragon's maiden-head: Where (though scarce sleep) thou mayst rest confident None dares beguile thee of thy punishment: The sin were not more foul that he should commit, 40Than is that She with whom he acted it. Yet take this comfort: when old age shall raze, Or sickness ruin many a good face, Thy choice cannot impair; no cunning curse Can mend that night-piece, that is, make her worse.

If a bad woman once has fix'd you, Put many a mile of ground betwixt you—

Why slightest thou what I approve? Thou art no Peer to try my love, Nor canst discern where her form lies, Unless thou saw'st her with my eyes. Say she were foul and blacker than The Night, or sunburnt African, If lik'd by me, 'tis I alone Can make a beauty where was none; For rated in my fancy, she 10Is so as she appears to me. But 'tis not feature, or a face, That does my free election grace, Nor is my liking only led By a well-temper'd white and red; Could I enamour'd grow on those, The Lily and the blushing Rose United in one stalk might be As dear unto my thoughts as she. But I look farther, and do find 20A richer beauty in her mind; Where something is so lasting fair, As time or age cannot impair. Hadst thou a perspective so clear, Thou couldst behold my object there; When thou her virtues shouldst espy, They'd force thee to confess that I Had cause to like her, and learn thence To love by judgement, not by sense.

For it is still the lover's mind That all, except himself, are blind.

so clear That thou couldst view my object there; When thou her virtues didst espy, Thou 'ldst wonder and confess that I Had cause to like; and learn from hence To love.

So diamonds sparkle, and thy mistress' eyes; When 'tis not fire but light in either flies. Beauty not thaw'd by lustful flames will show Like a fair mountain of unmelted snow: Nor can the tasted vine more danger bring Than water taken from the crystal spring, Whose end is to refresh and cool that heat Which unallay'd becomes foul vice's seat: Unless thy boiling veins, mad with desire 10Of drink, convert the liquor into fire. For then thou quaff'st down fevers, thy full bowls Carouse the burning draughts of Portia's coals. If it do leap and sparkle in the cup, 'Twill sink thy cares, and help invention up. There never yet was Muse or Poet known Not dipt or drenched in this Helicon. But Tom! take heed thou use it with such care As witches deal with their familiar. For if thy virtue's circle not confine 20And guard thee from the Furies rais'd by wine, 'Tis ten to one this dancing spirit may A Devil prove to bear thy wits away; And make thy glowing nose a map of Hell Where Bacchus' purple fumes like meteors dwell. Now think not these sage morals thee invite To prove Carthusian or strict Rechabite; Let fool's be mad, wise people may be free, Though not to license turn their liberty. He that drinks wine for health, not for excess, 30Nor drowns his temper in a drunkenness, Shall feel no more the grape's unruly fate, Then if he took some chilling opiate.

We do not give the wine a sparkling name, As if we meant those sparks implied a flame; The flame lies in our blood: and 'tis desire Fed by loose appetite sets us on fire,

At this glad triumph, when most poets use Their quill, I did not bridle up my Muse For sloth or less devotion. I am one That can well keep my Holy-days at home; That can the blessings of my King and State Better in pray'r than poems gratulate; And in their fortunes bear a loyal part, Though I no bonfires light but in my heart. Truth is, when I receiv'd the first report 10Of a new star risen and seen at Court; Though I felt joy enough to give a tongue Unto a mute, yet duty strook me dumb: And thus surpris'd by rumour, at first sight I held it some allegiance not to write. For howe'er children, unto those that look Their pedigree in God's, not the Church book, Fair pledges are of that eternity Which Christians possess not till they die; Yet they appear, view'd in that perspective 20Through which we look on men long since alive, Like succours in a Camp, sent to make good Their place that last upon the watches stood. So that in age, or fate, each following birth Doth set the parent so much nearer earth: And by this grammar we our heirs may call The smiling Preface to our funeral. This sadded my soft sense, to think that he Who now makes laws, should by a bold decree Be summon'd hence, to make another room, 30And change his royal palace for a tomb. For none ere truly lov'd the present light, But griev'd to see it rivall'd by the night: And if 't be sin to wish that light extinct, Sorrow may make it treason but to think't. I know each malcontent or giddy man, In his religion, with the Persian Adores the rising Sun; and his false view Best likes, not what is best, but what is new. O that we could these gangrenes so prevent 40(For our own blessing, and their punishment), That all such might, who for wild changes thirst, Rack'd on a hopeless expectation, burst, To see us fetter time, and by his stay To a consistence fix the flying day; And in a Solstice by our prayers made, Rescue our Sun from death or envy's shade. But here we dally with fate, and in this Stern Destiny mocks and controls our wish; Informing us, if fathers should remain 50For ever here, children were born in vain; And we in vain were Christians, should we In this world dream of perpetuity. Decay is Nature's Kalendar; nor can It hurt the King to think he is a man; Nor grieve, but comfort him, to hear us say That his own children must his sceptre sway. Why slack I then to contribute a vote, Large as the kingdom's joy, free as my thought? Long live the Prince! and in that title bear 60The world long witness that the King is here: May he grow up, till all that good he reach Which we can wish, or his Great Father teach: Let him shine long, a mark to land and main, Like that bright spark plac'd nearest to Charles' Wain, And, like him, lead succession's golden team, Which may possess the British diadem. But in the mean space, let his Royal Sire, Who warms our hopes with true Promethean fire, So long his course in time and glory run, 70Till he estate his virtue on his son. So in his father's days this happy One Shall crowned be, yet not usurp the Throne; And Charles reign still, since thus himself will be Heir to himself, through all posterity.

So breaks the day, when the returning Sun Hath newly through his winter tropic run, As You (Great Sir!) in this regress come forth From the remoter climate of the North. To tell You now what cares, what fears we past, What clouds of sorrow did the land o'er-cast, Were lost, but unto such as have been there, Where the absented Sun benights the year: Or have those countries travel'd, which ne'er feel 10The warmth and virtue of his flaming wheel. How happy yet were we! that when You went, You left within Your Kingdom's firmament A Partner-light, whose lustre may despise The nightly glimm'ring tapers of the skies, Your peerless Queen; and at each hand a Star, Whose hopeful beams from You enkindled are. Though (to say truth) the light, which they could bring, Serv'd but to lengthen out our evening. Heaven's greater lamps illumine it; each spark 20Adds only this, to make the sky less dark. Nay, She, who is the glory of her sex, Did sadly droop for lack of Your reflex: Oft did She her fair brow in loneness shroud, And dimly shone, like Venus in a cloud. Now are those gloomy mists dry'd up by You, As the world's eye scatters the ev'ning dew: And You bring home that blessing to the land, Which absence made us rightly understand. Here may You henceforth stay! there need no charms 30To hold You, but the circle of her arms, Whose fruitful love yields You a rich increase, Seals of Your joy, and of the kingdom's peace. O may those precious pledges fix You here, And You grow old within that crystal sphere! Pardon this bold detention. Else our love Will merely an officious trouble prove. Each busy minute tells us, as it flies, That there are better objects for Your eyes. To them let us leave You, whilst we go pray, 40Raising this triumph to a Holy-day. And may that soul the Church's blessing want, May his content be short, his comforts scant, Whose bosom-altar does no incense burn, In thankful sacrifice for Your return.

Great Lady! that thus, quite against our use, We speak your welcome by an English Muse, And in a vulgar tongue our zeals contrive, Is to confess your large prerogative, Who have the pow'rful freedom to dispense With our strict Rules, or Custom's difference. 'Tis fit, when such a Star deigns to appear, And shine within the academic sphere, That ev'ry college, grac'd by your resort, 10Should only speak the language of your Court; As if Apollo's learned quire, but You, No other Queen of the Ascendent knew. Let those that list invoke the Delphian name, To light their verse, and quench their doting flame; In Helicon it were high treason now, Did any to a feign'd Minerva bow; When You are present, whose chaste virtues stain The vaunted glories of her maiden brain. I would not flatter. May that diet feed 20Deform'd and vicious souls; they only need Such physic, who, grown sick of their decays, Are only cur'd with surfeits of false praise; Like those, who, fall'n from youth or beauty's grace, Lay colours on, which more belie the face. Be You still what You are; a glorious theme For Truth to crown. So when that diadem Which circles Your fair brow drops off, and time Shall lift You to that pitch our prayers climb; Posterity will plait a nobler wreath, 30To crown Your fame and memory in death. This is sad truth and plain, which I might fear Would scarce prove welcome to a Prince's ear; And hardly may you think that writer wise, Who preaches there where he should poetize; Yet where so rich a bank of goodness is, Triumphs and Feasts admit such thoughts as this, Nor will your virtue from her client turn, Although he bring his tribute in an urn. Enough of this: who knows not when to end 40Needs must, by tedious diligence, offend. Tis not a poet's office to advance The precious value of allegiance. And least of all the rest do I affect To word my duty in this dialect. My service lies a better way, whose tone Is spirited by full devotion. Thus, whilst I mention You, Your Royal Mate, And Those which your blest line perpetuate, I shall such votes of happiness rehearse, 50Whose softest accents will out-tongue my verse.

Move on, thou floating trophy built to Fame! And bid her trump spread thy majestic name; That the blue Tritons, and those petty Gods Which sport themselves upon the dancing floods, May bow, as to their Neptune, when they feel The awful pressure of thy potent keel. Great wonder of the time! whose form unites In one aspect two warring opposites, Delight and horror; and in them portends 10Diff'ring events both to thy foes and friends; To these thy radiant brow, Peace's bright shrine, Doth like that golden constellation shine, Which guides the seaman with auspicious beams, Safe and unshipwrack'd through the troubled streams. But, as a blazing meteor, to those It doth ostents of blood and death disclose. For thy rich decks lighten like Heaven's fires, To usher forth the thunder of thy tires. O never may cross wind, or swelling wave, 20Conspire to make the treach'rous sands thy grave: Nor envious rocks, in their white foamy laugh, Rejoice to wear thy loss's Epitaph. But may the smoothest, most successful gales Distend thy sheet, and wing thy flying sails: That all designs which must on thee embark, May be securely plac'd, as in the Ark. May'st thou, where'er thy streamers shall display, Enforce the bold disputers to obey: That they, whose pens are sharper than their swords, 30May yield in fact, what they denied in words. Thus when th' amazed world our seas shall see Shut from usurpers, to their own Lord free, Thou may'st, returning from the conquered main, With thine own triumphs be crown'd Sovereign.

Let no profane ignoble foot tread near This hallow'd piece of earth: Dorset lies here. A small sad relique of a noble spirit, Free as the air, and ample as his merit; Whose least perfection was large, and great Enough to make a common man complete. A soul refin'd and cull'd from many men, That reconcil'd the sword unto the pen, Using both well. No proud forgetting Lord, 10But mindful of mean names, and of his word. One that did love for honour, not for ends, And had the noblest way of making friends By loving first. One that did know the Court, Yet understood it better by report Than practice, for he nothing took from thence But the king's favour for his recompense. One for religion, or his country's good, That valu'd not his fortune, nor his blood. One high in fair opinion, rich in praise, 20And full of all we could have wish'd, but days. He that is warn'd of this, and shall forbear To vent a sigh for him, or lend a tear; May he live long and scorn'd, unpitied fall, And want a mourner at his funeral.

Accept, thou Shrine of my dead Saint, Instead of dirges this complaint; And for sweet flowers to crown thy hearse, Receive a strew of weeping verse From thy griev'd friend, whom thou might'st see Quite melted into tears for thee. Dear loss! since thy untimely fate, My task hath been to meditate On thee, on thee: thou art the book, 10The library, whereon I look, Though almost blind. For thee (lov'd clay) I languish out, not live, the day, Using no other exercise But what I practise with mine eyes: By which wet glasses, I find out How lazily time creeps about To one that mourns; this, only this, My exercise and bus'ness is: So I compute the weary hours 20With sighs dissolved into showers. Nor wonder, if my time go thus Backward and most preposterous; Thou hast benighted me; thy set This eve of blackness did beget, Who wast my day (though overcast, Before thou hadst thy noon-tide past), And I remember must in tears, Thou scarce hadst seen so many years As day tells hours. By thy clear Sun, 30My love and fortune first did run; But thou wilt never more appear Folded within my hemisphere, Since both thy light and motion Like a fled star is fall'n and gone, And 'twixt me and my soul's dear wish The earth now interposed is, Which such a strange eclipse doth make, As ne'er was read in almanac. I could allow thee, for a time, 40To darken me and my sad clime, Were it a month, a year, or ten, I would thy exile live till then; And all that space my mirth adjourn, So thou wouldst promise to return; And putting off thy ashy shroud, At length disperse this sorrow's cloud. But woe is me! the longest date Too narrow is to calculate These empty hopes: never shall I 50Be so much blest as to descry A glimpse of thee, till that day come, Which shall the earth to cinders doom, And a fierce fever must calcine The body of this world, like thine, My Little World! That fit of fire Once off, our bodies shall aspire To our souls' bliss: then we shall rise, And view ourselves with clearer eyes In that calm region, where no night 60Can hide us from each other's sight. Meantime, thou hast her, Earth; much good May my harm do thee. Since it stood With Heaven's will, I might not call Her longer mine, I give thee all My short-liv'd right and interest In her, whom living I lov'd best: With a most free and bounteous grief, I give thee, what I could not keep. Be kind to her, and prithee look 70Thou write into thy Dooms-day book Each parcel of this rarity, Which in thy casket shrin'd doth lie: See that thou make thy reck'ning straight, And yield her back again by weight; For thou must audit on thy trust Each grain and atom of this dust, As thou wilt answer Him that lent, Not gave thee, my dear monument. So close the ground, and 'bout her shade 80Black curtains draw;—my Bride is laid. Sleep on, my Love, in thy cold bed, Never to be disquieted! My last good night! Thou wilt not wake, Till I thy fate shall overtake: Till age, or grief, or sickness, must Marry my body to that dust It so much loves; and fill the room My heart keeps empty in thy tomb. Stay for me there; I will not fail 90To meet thee in that hollow vale: And think not much of my delay; I am already on the way, And follow thee with all the speed Desire can make, or sorrows breed. Each minute is a short degree, And ev'ry hour a step towards thee. At night, when I betake to rest, Next morn I rise nearer my West Of life, almost by eight hours' sail 100Than when sleep breath'd his drowsy gale. Thus from the Sun my bottom steers, And my day's compass downward bears: Nor labour I to stem the tide, Through which to Thee I swiftly glide. 'Tis true, with shame and grief I yield, Thou, like the van, first took'st the field, And gotten hast the victory, In thus adventuring to die Before me, whose more years might crave 110A just precedence in the grave. But heark! My pulse, like a soft drum, Beats my approach, tells Thee I come; And slow howe'er my marches be, I shall at last sit down by Thee. The thought of this bids me go on, And wait my dissolution With hope and comfort. Dear (forgive The crime), I am content to live Divided, with but half a heart, 120Till we shall meet and never part.

So soon grown old! hast thou been six years dead? Poor earth, once by my Love inhabited! And must I live to calculate the time To which thy blooming youth could never climb, But fell in the ascent! yet have not I Studied enough thy loss's history. How happy were mankind, if Death's strict laws Consum'd our lamentations like the cause! Or that our grief, turning to dust, might end 10With the dissolved body of a friend! But sacred Heaven! O, how just thou art In stamping death's impression on that heart, Which through thy favours would grow insolent, Were it not physic'd by sharp discontent. If, then, it stand resolv'd in thy decree, That still I must doom'd to a desert be, Sprung out of my lone thoughts, which know no path But what my own misfortune beaten hath;— If thou wilt bind me living to a corse, 20And I must slowly waste; I then of force Stoop to thy great appointment, and obey That will which nought avails me to gainsay. For whilst in sorrow's maze I wander on, I do but follow life's vocation. Sure we were made to grieve: at our first birth, With cries we took possession of the earth; And though the lucky man reputed be Fortune's adopted son, yet only he Is Nature's true-born child, who sums his years 30(Like me) with no arithmetic but tears.

Brought forth in sorrow, and bred up in care, Two tender children here entombed are: One place, one sire, one womb their being gave, They had one mortal sickness, and one grave. And though they cannot number many years In their account, yet with their parent's tears This comfort mingles; Though their days were few, They scarcely sin, but never sorrow knew; So that they well might boast, they carried hence 10What riper ages lose, their innocence. You pretty losses, that revive the fate, Which, in your mother, death did antedate, O let my high-swoln grief distil on you The saddest drops of a parental dew: You ask no other dower than what my eyes Lay out on your untimely exequies: When once I have discharg'd that mournful score, Heav'n hath decreed you ne'er shall cost me more, Since you release and quit my borrow'd trust, 20By taking this inheritance of dust.

I ne'er was dress'd in forms; nor can I bend My pen to flatter any, nor commend, Unless desert or honour do present Unto my verse a worthy argument. You are my friend, and in that word to me Stand blazon'd in your noblest heraldry; That style presents you full, and does relate The bounty of your love, and my own fate, Both which conspir'd to make me yours. A choice, 10Which needs must, in the giddy people's voice, That only judge the outside, and, like apes, Play with our names, and comment on our shapes, Appear too light: but it lies you upon, To justify the disproportion. Truth be my record, I durst not presume To seek to you, 'twas you that did assume Me to your bosom. Wherein you subdu'd One that can serve you, though ne'er could intrude Upon great titles; nor knows how t' invade 20Acquaintance: Like such as are only paid With great men's smiles; if that the passant Lord Let fall a forc'd salute, or but afford The nod regardant. It was test enough For me, you ne'er did find such servile stuff Couch'd in my temper; I can freely say, I do not love you in that common way For which Great Ones are lov'd in this false time: I have no wish to gain, nor will to climb; I cannot pawn my freedom, nor outlive 30My liberty, for all that you can give. And sure you may retain good cheap such friends, Who not your fortune make, but you, their ends. I speak not this to vaunt in my own story, All these additions are unto your glory; Who, counter to the world, use to elect, Not to take up on trust, what you affect. Indeed 'tis seldom seen that such as you Adopt a friend, or for acquaintance sue; Yet you did this vouchsafe, you did descend 40Below yourself to raise an humble friend, And fix him in your love: where I will stand The constant subject of your free command. Had I no airy thoughts, sure you would teach Me higher than my own dull sphere to reach: And, by reflex, instruct me to appear Something (though coarse and plain) fit for your wear. Know, best of friends, however wild report May justly say, I am unapt to sort With your opinion or society 50(Which truth would shame me, did I it deny), There 's something in me says, I dare make good, When honour calls me, all I want in blood. Put off your giant titles, then I can Stand in your judgement's blank an equal man. Though hills advanced are above the plain, They are but higher earth, nor must disdain Alliance with the vale: we see a spade Can level them, and make a mount a glade. Howe'er we differ in the Heralds' book, 60He that mankind's extraction shall look In Nature's rolls, must grant we all agree In our best part's immortal pedigree: You must by that perspective only view My service, else 'twill ne'er show worthy you. You see I court you bluntly, like a friend, Not like a mistress; my Muse is not penn'd For smooth and oily flights: and I indent To use more honesty than compliment. But I have done; in lieu of all you give, 70Receive his thankful tribute, who must live Your vow'd observer, and devotes a heart Which will in death seal the bold counterpart.

My best of friends! what needs a chain to tie One by your merit bound a votary? Think you I have some plot upon my peace, I would this bondage change for a release? Since 'twas my fate your prisoner to be, Heav'n knows I nothing fear, but liberty. Yet you do well, that study to prevent, After so rich a stock of favour spent On one so worthless, lest my memory 10Should let so dear an obligation die Without record. This made my precious Friend Her token, as an antidote, to send, Against forgetful poisons; That as they Who Vespers late, and early Mattins say Upon their beads, so on this linked score In golden numbers I might reckon o'er Your virtues and my debt, which does surmount The trivial laws of popular account: For that, within this emblematic knot, 20Your beauteous mind, and my own fate, is wrote. The sparkling constellation which combines The lock, is your dear self, whose worth outshines Most of your sex; so solid and so clear You like a perfect diamond appear; Casting, from your example, fuller light Than those dim sparks which glaze the brow of night, And gladding all your friends, as doth the ray Of that East-star which wakes the cheerful day. But the black map of death and discontent 30Behind that adamantine firmament, That luckless figure, which, like Calvary, Stands strew'd and copied out in skulls, is I: Whose life your absence clouds, and makes my time Move blindfold in the dark ecliptic line. Then wonder not, if my removed Sun So low within the western tropic run; My eyes no day in this horizon see, Since where You are not, all is night to me. Lastly, the anchor which enfast'ned lies 40Upon a pair of deaths, sadly applies That Monument of Rest, which harbour must Our ship-wrackt fortunes in a road of dust. So then, how late soe'er my joyless life Be tired out in this affection's strife: Though my tempestuous fancy, like the sky, Travail with storms, and through my wat'ry eye, Sorrow's high-going waves spring many a leak; Though sighs blow loud, till my heart's cordage break; Though Faith, and all my wishes prove untrue, 50Yet Death shall fix and anchor Me with You. 'Tis some poor comfort, that this mortal scope Will period, though never crown, my Hope.

Not knowing who should my acquittance take, I know as little what discharge to make. The favour is so great, that it outgoes All forms of thankfulness I can propose. Those grateful levies which my pen would raise, Are stricken dumb, or buried in amaze. Therefore, as once in Athens there was shown An Altar built unto the God Unknown, My ignorant devotions must by guess 10This blind return of gratitude address, Till you vouchsafe to show me where and how I may to this revealed Goddess bow.

My Dearest, To let you or the world know What debt of service I do truly owe To your unpattern'd self, were to require A language only form'd in the desire Of him that writes. It is the common fate Of greatest duties, to evaporate In silent meaning, as we often see Fires by their too much fuel smother'd be: Small obligations may find vent, and speak, 10When greater the unable debtor break. And such are mine to you, whose favour's store Hath made me poorer then I was before; For I want words and language to declare How strict my bond, or large your bounties are. Since nothing in my desp'rate fortune found, Can payment make, nor yet the sum compound; You must lose all, or else of force accept The body of a bankrupt for your debt. Then, Love, your bond to execution sue, 20And take myself, as forfeited to you.

Were I to leave no more than a good friend, Or but to hear the summons to my end, (Which I have long'd for) I could then with ease Attire my grief in words, and so appease That passion in my bosom, which outgrows The language of strict verse or largest prose. But here I am quite lost; writing to you, All that I pen or think is forc'd and new. My faculties run cross, and prove as weak 10T' indite this melancholy task, as speak: Indeed all words are vain; well might I spare This rend'ring of my tortur'd thoughts in air, Or sighing paper. My infectious grief Strikes inward, and affords me no relief, But still a deeper wound, to lose a sight More lov'd than health, and dearer than the light. But all of us were not at the same time Brought forth, nor are we billeted in one clime. Nature hath pitch'd mankind at several rates, 20Making our places diverse as our fates. Unto that universal law I bow, Though with unwilling knee, and do allow Her cruel justice, which dispos'd us so That we must counter to our wishes go. 'Twas part of man's first curse, which order'd well, We should not alway with our likings dwell. 'Tis only the Triumphant Church where we Shall in unsever'd neighbourhood agree. Go then, best soul, and, where You must appear, 30Restore the day to that dull hemisphere. Ne'er may the hapless night You leave behind Darken the comforts of Your purer mind. May all the blessings wishes can invent Enrich your days, and crown them with content. And though You travel down into the West, May Your life's Sun stand fixed in the East, Far from the weeping set; nor may my ear Take in that killing whisper, You once were. Thus kiss I Your fair hands, taking my leave, 40As prisoners at the bar their doom receive. All joys go with You: let sweet peace attend You on the way, and wait Your journey's end. But let Your discontents and sourer fate Remain with me, borne off in my retrait. Might all your crosses, in that sheet of lead Which folds my heavy heart, lie buried: 'Tis the last service I would do You, and the best My wishes ever meant, or tongue profest. Once more I take my leave. And once for all, 50Our parting shows so like a funeral, It strikes my soul, which hath most right to be Chief Mourner at this sad solemnity. And think not, Dearest, 'cause this parting knell Is rung in verses, that at Your farewell I only mourn in poetry and ink: No, my pen's melancholy plummets sink So low, they dive where th' hid affections sit, Blotting that paper where my mirth was writ. Believe 't, that sorrow truest is, which lies 60Deep in the breast, not floating in the eyes: And he with saddest circumstance doth part, Who seals his farewell with a bleeding heart.

Fair one, why cannot you an old man love? He may as useful, and more constant prove. Experience shows you that maturer years Are a security against those fears Youth will expose you to; whose wild desire As it is hot, so 'tis as rash as fire. Mark how the blaze extinct in ashes lies, Leaving no brand nor embers when it dies Which might the flame renew: thus soon consumes 10Youth's wand'ring heat, and vanishes in fumes. When age's riper love unapt to stray Through loose and giddy change of objects, may In your warm bosom like a cinder lie, Quick'ned and kindled by your sparkling eye. 'Tis not deni'd, there are extremes in both Which may the fancy move to like or loathe: Yet of the two you better shall endure To marry with the cramp than calenture. Who would in wisdom choose the Torrid Zone 20Therein to settle a plantation? Merchants can tell you, those hot climes were made But at the longest for a three years' trade: And though the Indies cast the sweeter smell, Yet health and plenty do more Northward dwell; For where the raging sunbeams burn the earth, Her scorched mantle withers into dearth; Yet when that drought becomes the harvest's curse, Snow doth the tender corn most kindly nurse: Why now then woo you not some snowy head 30To take you in mere pity to his bed? I doubt the harder task were to persuade Him to love you: for if what I have said In virgins as in vegetals holds true, He'll prove the better nurse to cherish you. Some men we know renown'd for wisdom grown By old records and antique medals shown; Why ought not women then be held most wise Who can produce living antiquities? Besides if care of that main happiness 40Your sex triumphs in, doth your thoughts possess, I mean your beauty from decay to keep; No wash nor mask is like an old man's sleep. Young wives need never to be sunburnt fear, Who their old husbands for umbrellas wear: How russet looks an orchard on the hill To one that 's water'd by some neighb'ring drill? Are not the floated meadows ever seen To flourish soonest, and hold longest green? You may be sure no moist'ning lacks that bride, 50Who lies with winter thawing by her side. She should be fruitful too as fields that join Unto the melting waste of Apennine. Whilst the cold morning-drops bedew the rose, It doth nor leaf, nor smell, nor colour lose; Then doubt not, Sweet! Age hath supplies of wet To keep You like that flower in water set. Dripping catarrhs and fontinells are things Will make You think You grew betwixt two springs. And should You not think so, You scarce allow 60The force or merit of Your marriage-vow; Where maids a new creed learn, and must from thence Believe against their own or others' sense. Else love will nothing differ from neglect, Which turns not to a virtue each defect. I'll say no more but this; you women make Your children's reck'ning by the almanac. I like it well, so you contented are, To choose their fathers by that kalendar. Turn then, old Erra Pater, and there see 70According to life's posture and degree, What age or what complexion is most fit To make an English maid happy by it; And You shall find, if You will choose a man, Set justly for Your own meridian, Though You perhaps let One and Twenty woo, Your elevation is for Fifty-Two.

Love is our Reason's Paradox, which still Against the judgement doth maintain the will: And governs by such arbitrary laws, It only makes the act our liking's cause: We have no brave revenge, but to forgo Our full desires, and starve the tyrant so. They whom the rising blood tempts not to taste, Preserve a stock of love can never waste; When easy people who their wish enjoy, 10Like prodigals at once their wealth destroy. Adam till now had stay'd in Paradise Had his desires been bounded by his eyes. When he did more than look, that made th' offence, And forfeited his state of innocence. Fruition therefore is the bane t' undo Both our affection and the subject too. 'Tis Love into worse language to translate, And make it into Lust degenerate: 'Tis to dethrone, and thrust it from the heart, 20To seat it grossly in the sensual part. Seek for the star that 's shot upon the ground, And nought but a dim jelly there is found. Thus foul and dark our female stars appear, If fall'n or loos'ned once from Virtue's Sphere. Glow-worms shine only look'd on, and let lie, But handled crawl into deformity: So beauty is no longer fair and bright, Than whilst unstained by the appetite: And then it withers like a blasted flower, 30Some pois'nous worm or spider hath crept o'er. Pygmalion's dotage on the carved stone, Shows amorists their strong illusion. Whilst he to gaze and court it was content, He serv'd as priest at Beauty's monument: But when by looser fires t' embraces led, It prov'd a cold hard statue in his bed. Irregular affects, like madmen's dreams Presented by false lights and broken beams, So long content us, as no near address 40Shows the weak sense our painted happiness. But when those pleasing shadows us forsake, Or of the substance we a trial make, Like him, deluded by the fancy's mock, We shipwrack 'gainst an alabaster rock. What though thy mistress far from marble be? Her softness will transform and harden thee. Lust is a snake, and Guilt the Gorgon's head, Which Conscience turns to stone, and Joys to lead. Turtles themselves will blush, if put to name 50The act, whereby they quench their am'rous flame. Who then that 's wise or virtuous, would not fear To catch at pleasures which forbidden were, When those which we count lawful, cannot be Requir'd without some loss of modesty? Ev'n in the marriage-bed, where soft delights Are customary and authoriz'd rites; What are those tributes to the wanton sense, But toleration of Incontinence? For properly you cannot call that Love 60Which does not from the soul, but humour move. Thus they who worship'd Pan or Isis' Shrine, By the fair front judg'd all within divine: Though ent'ring, found 'twas but a goat or cow To which before their ignorance did bow. Such temples and such goddesses are these Which foolish lovers and admirers please: Who if they chance within the shrine to pry, Find that a beast they thought a Deity. Nor makes it only our opinion less 70Of what we lik'd before, and now possess; But robs the fuel, and corrupts the spice Which sweetens and inflames Love's sacrifice, After fruition once, what is Desire But ashes kept warm by a dying fire? This is (if any) the Philosopher's Stone Which still miscarries at projection. For when the Heat ad Octo intermits, It poorly takes us like Third Ague fits, Or must on embers as dull drugs infuse, 80Which we for med'cine not for pleasure use. Since lovers' joys then leave so sick a taste, And soon as relish'd by the sense are past; They are but riddles sure, lost if possest, And therefore only in reversion best. For bate them expectation and delay, You take the most delightful scenes away. These two such rule within the fancy keep, As banquets apprehended in our sleep; After which pleasing trance next morn we wake 90Empty and angry at the night's mistake. Give me long dreams and visions of content, Rather than pleasures in a minute spent. And since I know before, the shedding rose In that same instant doth her sweetness lose, Upon the virgin-stock still let her dwell For me, to feast my longings with her smell. Those are but counterfeits of joy at best, Which languish soon as brought unto the test. Nor can I hold it worth his pains who tries 100To in that harvest which by reaping dies. Resolve me now what spirit hath delight, If by full feed you kill the appetite? That stomach healthi'st is, that ne'er was cloy'd, Why not that Love the best then, ne'er enjoy'd? Since nat'rally the blood, when tam'd or sated, Will cool so fast it leaves the object hated. Pleasures, like wonders, quickly lose their price When Reason or Experience makes us wise. To close my argument then. I dare say 110(And without Paradox) as well we may Enjoy our Love and yet preserve Desire, As warm our hands by putting out the fire.

We lov'd as friends now twenty years and more: Is't time or reason, think you, to give o'er? When, though two prenti'ships set Jacob free, I have not held my Rachel dear at three. Yet will I not your levity accuse; Continuance sometimes is the worse abuse. In judgement I might rather hold it strange, If, like the fleeting world, you did not change: Be it your wisdom therefore to retract, 10When perseverance oft is folly's act. In pity I can think, that what you do Hath Justice in't, and some Religion too; For of all virtues Moral or Divine, We know, but Love, none must in Heaven shine: Well did you the presumption then foresee Of counterfeiting immortality: Since had you kept our loves too long alive, We might invade Heaven's prerogative; Or in our progress, like the Jews, comprise 20The Legend of an earthly Paradise. Live happy, and more prosperous in the next. You have discharg'd your old friend by the text. Farewell, fair Shadow of a female faith, And let this be our friendship's Epitaph: Affection shares the frailty of our fate, When (like ourselves) 'tis old and out of date: 'Tis just all human loves their period have, When friends are frail and dropping to the grave.

Dear Nan, I would not have thy counsel lost, Though I last night had twice so much been crost; Well is a passion to the market brought, When such a treasure of advice is bought With so much dross. And couldst thou me assure, Each vice of mine should meet with such a cure, I would sin oft, and on my guilty brow Wear every misperfection that I owe, Open and visible; I should not hide 10But bring my faults abroad: to hear thee chide In such a note, and with a quill so sage, It passion tunes, and calms a tempest's rage. Well, I am charm'd, and promise to redress What, without shrift, my follies do confess Against myself: wherefore let me entreat, When I fly out in that distemper'd heat Which frets me into fasts, thou wilt reprove That froward spleen in poetry and love: So though I lose my reason in such fits 20Thou'lt rhyme me back again into my wits.