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Compar'd with her, all things so worthless prove, That nought on Earth can tow'rds her move, Till 't be exalted by her love.
Equal to her, alas! there's none;
She like a deity is grown,
That must create, or else must be alone.
If there be man who thinks himself so high,
He deserves her less than I;
For he would cheat for his relief; And one would give, with lesser grief, Tan undeserving beggar than a thief.
No; thou'rt a fool, I'll swear, if e'er thou grant;
Beauty at first moves wonder and delight;
'Tis Nature's juggling trick to cheat the sight.
I would not have her know the pain,
Forbid it, Heaven! my life should be
Yet when I die, my last breath shall Grow bold, and plainly tell her all: Like covetous men, who ne'er descry Their dear-hid treasures till they die. Ah, fairest maid! how will it cheer My ghost, to get from thee a tear! But take heed; for if me thou pitiest then, Twenty to one but I shall live again.
THE GIVEN HEART.
WONDER What those lovers mean, who say
'Twill tear and blow up all within,
Shall out of both one new one make,
Mine only will remain entire ;
TEACH me to love! go teach thyself more wit;
Teach craft to Scots, and thrift to Jews,
In tyrants' courts teach supple flattery;
He who does boast that he has been
'Tis I who Love's Columbus am; 'tis I
Me times to come, I know it, shall Love's last and greatest prophet call; But, ah! what's that, if she refuse To hear the wholesome doctrines of my Muse; If to my share the prophet's fate must come Hereafter fame, here martyrdom?
THE Devil take those foolish men
Who gave you first such powers;
If any odds, creation made it ours.
For shame, let these weak chains be broke; Let's our slight bonds, like Samson, tear; And nobly cast away that yoke,
Which we nor our forefathers e'er could bear. French laws forbid the female reign;
Yet Love does them to slavery draw: Alas! if we'll our rights maintain, 'Tis all mankind must make a Salique law.
HA! ha! you think you've kill'd my fame,
But, when you call us so,
It can at best but for a metaphor go.
Can you the shore inconstant call,
Or can you fault with pilots find
For changing course, yet never blame the wind? Since, drunk with vanity, you fell,
The things turn'd round to you that stedfast dwell;
And you yourself, who from us take your flight, Wonder to find us out of sight.
So the same errour seizes you,
As men in motion think the trees move too,
Go, let the fatted calf be kill'd;
And fill'd with sorrow for the past:
Dear wanderer! since from me you fled,
Or wild, and uninhabited?
Lust, the scorching dog-star, here
And where these are temperate known,
Like China, it admitted you
But to the frontier-part.
From Paradise shut for evermore,
What good is 't that an angel kept the door? Well fare the pride, and the disdain,
And vanities, with beauty join'd;
I ne'er had seen this heart again,
My dove, but once let loose, I doubt
THE HEART FLED AGAIN. FALSE, foolish Heart! didst thou not say
That thou would'st never leave me more? Behold! again 'tis fled away,
Fled as far from me as before.
I strove to bring it back again;
I cry'd and hollow'd after it in vain.
When neither grief nor love prevail,
Th' ingrateful Trojan, hoist his sail :
On the wide shore forsaken stood:
And to be scorch'd in every eye!
My head shall take the greater pain,
By customs and traditions they live,
Preach we, Love's prophets, what we will,
Before their mothers' gods they fondly fall,
But then, like men both covetous and devout,
At their own charge to furnish it-
The hearts of men they sacrifice.
SOME dull philosopher--when he hears me say
Nor has of late inform'd my body here,
As a form servient and assisting there-
A curse on all your vain philosophies,
Which on weak Nature's law depend, And know not how to comprehend Love and religion, those great mysteries! Her body is my soul; laugh not at this, For by my life I swear it is.
"Tis that preserves my being and my breath; From that proceeds all that I do,
Nay all my thoughts and speeches too; And separation from it is my death,
In griefs whose cause thou dost not know; Hadst thou but eyes, as well as tongue and ear,
How much compassion would'st thou show!
Paint thee to her, as describe her to thee.
Shapes by reflection shapes beget;
The gainers grow; my barren love alone
THE RICH RIVAL.
THEY say you're angry, and rant mightily,
Because I love the same as you : Alas! you're very rich, 'tis true; But, pr'ythee, fool! what's that to love and me? You 'ave land and money, let that serve; And know you'ave more by that than you deserve. When next I see my fair-one, she shall know How worthless thou art of her bed; And, wretch! I'll strike thee dumb and dead, With noble verse not understood by you;
Whilst thy sole rhetoric shall be "Jointure" and "jewels," and “ our friends agree."
Poxo' your friends, that doat and domineer;
Vain names of blood! in love let none
Ah, simple soul! what would become of thee?
it quite !
Thou bring'st us an estate, yet leav'st us poor, By clogging it with legacies before!
The joys which we entire should wed, Good fortunes without gain imported be, Come deflower'd virgins to our bed; Such mighty custom's paid to thee. For joy, like wine, kept close does better taste; If it take air before, its spirits waste.
Hope! Fortune's cheating lottery! Where for one prize an hundred blanks there be; Fond archer, Hope! who tak'st thy aim so far, That still or short or wide thine arrows are!
Thin, empty cloud, which th' eye deceives With shapes that our own fancy gives! A cloud, which gilt and painted now appears, But must drop presently in tears! When thy false beams o'er Reason's light prevail, By ignes fatui for north-stars we sail.
Brother of Fear, more gayly clad! The merrier fool o' th' two, yet quite as mad:
Sire of Repentance! child of fond Desire!
By the strange witchcraft of "anon!"
HOPE! of all ills that men endure,
Thou manna, which from Heaven we eat,
Thou strong retreat! thou sure-entail'd estate,
Hope! thou first-fruits of happiness!
Who out of Fortune's reach dost stand,
Whilst thee, her earnest-money, we retain,
Whether she her bargain break, or else fulfil;
Brother of Faith! 'twixt whom and thee
Thine's the more hard and noble bliss: Best apprehender of our joys! which hast So long a reach, and yet canst hold so fast!
Hope! thou sad lovers' only friend! Thou Way, that may'st dispute it with the End! For love, I fear, fruit that does delight The taste itself less than the smell and sight, Fruition more deceitful is
Than thou canst be, when thou dost miss; Men leave thee by obtaining, and straight flee Some other way again to thee;
And that's a pleasant country, without doubt,
I LITTLE thought, thou fond ingrateful sin! When first I let thee in,
And gave thee but a part
In my unwary heart,
That thou would'st e'er have grown
So false or strong to make it all thine own.
At mine own breast with care I fed thee still,
And daintily I nourish'd thee
What ill returns dost thou allow!I fed thee then, and thou dost starve me now. There was a time when thou wast cold and chill, Nor hadst the power of doing ill;
Into my bosom did I take
This frozen and benumbed snake,
But now it stings that breast which made it warm.
Each wholesome herb and beauteous flower!
That 'twere rebellion now to claim mine own,
I KNOW 'tis sordid, and 'tis low, (All this as well as you I know) Which I so hotly now pursue, (I know all this as well as you) But, whilst this cursed flesh I bear, And all the weakness and the baseness there, Alas! alas! it will be always so.
In vain, exceedingly in vain,
I rage sometimes, and bite my chain;
With teeth which ne'er will break it quite!
Thou, like fair Albion to the sailor's sight,
As if like doves w' engender'd there:
Nought shall my hands or lips control; I'll kiss thee through, I'll kiss thy very soul. Yet nothing but the Night our sports shall know; Night, that's both blind and silent too! Alpheus found not a more secret trace, His lov'd Sicanian fountain to embrace, Creeping so far beneath the sea, Than I will do t'enjoy and feast on thee. Men, out of wisdom; women, out of pride, The pleasant thefts of love do hide : That may secure thee; but thou 'ast yet from me A more infallible security;
For there's no danger I should tell The joys which are to me unspeakable.
Ix vain, thou drowsy god! I thee invoke;
Or passage of his spirits to choke,
To overflowings of the heart below.
Thou, who dost men (as nights to colours do)
Come, thou just god! and equal me
Till Love does me the favour shew:
Then never more shalt thou b'invok'd by me;
Let her but grant, and then will I
Thou scorn'st th' unhappy, and the happy, thee!
BEAUTY! thou wild fantastic ape,
Who dost in every country change thy shape!
Here black, there brown, here tawny, and there
Thou flatterer! which comply'st with every sight! Thou Babel, which confound'st the eye With unintelligible variety!
Who hast no certain what, nor where; But vary'st still, and dost thyself declare Inconstant, as thy she-professors are. Beauty! Love's scene and masquerade, So gay by well-plac'd lights and distance made False coin, with which th'impostor cheats us still; The stamp and colour good, but metal ill!
Which light or base we find, when we Weigh by enjoyment, and examine thee! For, though thy being be but show, 'Tis chiefly night which men to thee allow : And chuse t'enjoy thee, when thou least art Thou. Beauty! thou active, passive ill!
Which dy'st thyself as fast as thou dost kill!
Who dar'st not thine own home descry,
Beauty! whose conquests still are made O'er hearts by cowards kept, or else betray'd; Weak victor! who thyself destroy'd must be When Sickness storms, or Time besieges thee! Thou unwholesome thaw to frozen age! Thou strong wine, which youth's fever dost enrage!
Thou tyrant, which leav'st no man free! Thou subtle thief, from whom nought safe can be! Thou murderer, which hast kill'd, and devil, which would'st damn me!
As men in Greenland left beheld the Sun
And thought upon the sad half-year
With such swoln eyes my farewell took :
Ah, those blest lands to which bright Thou dost fly!
In vain the men of learning comfort me,
And know that I the day have lost;
I find to be but bears or foxes all.
Return, return, gay planet of mine East,
Of all that shines thou much the best!
So truly art the Sun to me,