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 from Time's wings hath stolen the feathers,
He has, and put them to his own;
For hours of late as long as days endure,
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 loved it is!
To look into a glass I fear;

And am surprised with wonder when I miss
Grey hairs and wrinkles there.

The'old Patriarchs' age, and not their happiness too,
Why does hard Fate to us restore?
Why does Love's fire thus to mankind renew
What the Flood wash'd away before?

Sure those are happy people that complain
O'the' shortness of the days of man:
Contract mine, Heaven! and bring them back again
To the' ordinary span.

If when your gift, long life, I disapprove,

I too ingrateful seem to be;

Punish me justly, Heaven; make her to love,

And then 'twill be too short for me.


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 I too weak for purgings grow.

Do but a while with patience stay
(For counsel yet will do no good)
Till time, and rest, and Heaven, allay
The violent burnings of my blood;
For what effect from this can flow,
To chide men drunk, for being so?

Perhaps the physic's good you give,

But ne'er to me can useful prove ;
Medicines may cure, but not revive;
And I'm not sick, but dead in love;
In Love's hell, not his world, am I;
At once I live, am dead, and die.
What new-found rhetoric is thine?

Even thy dissuasions me persuade,
And thy great power does clearest shine,
When thy commands are disobey'd.
In vain thou bidd'st me to forbear;
Obedience were rebellion here.

Thy tongue comes in, as if it meant
Against thine eyes to' assist my

But different far was his intent,


For straight the traitor took their part ; And by this new foe I'm bereft

Of all that little which was left.

The act, I must confess, was wise
As a dishonest act could be:
Well knew the tongue, alas! your eyes
Would be too strong for that and me;
And part o' the' triumph chose to get,
Rather than be a part of it.


'Tis true, l'ave loved already three or four, And shall three or four hundred more; I'll love each fair-one that I see,

Till I find one at last that shall love me.

That shall my Canaan be, the fatal soil
That ends my wanderings and my toil:
I'll settle there, and happy grow;

The country does with milk and honey flow.

The needle trembles so, and turns about,
Till it the northern point find out;

But constant then and fix'd does prove, Fix'd, that his dearest pole as soon may move.

Then may my vessel torn and shipwreck'd be,
If it put forth again to sea!

It never more abroad shall roam,

Though 't could next voyage bring the Indies home.

But I must sweat in love, and labour yet,
Till I a competency get;

They're slothful fools who leave a trade,
Till they a moderate fortune by't have made.

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.



FOR Heaven's sake, what d' you mean to do? Keep me, or let me go, one of the two;

Youth and warm hours let me not idly lose,

The little time that Love does choose;
If always here I must not stay,

Let me be gone whilst yet 'tis day;
Lest I, faint and benighted, lose my way.

'Tis dismal, one so long to love

In vain, till to love more as vain must prove;
To hunt so long on nimble prey, till we

Too weary to take others be:

Alas! 'tis folly to remain,

And waste our army thus in vain, Before a city which will ne'er be ta'en.

At several hopes wisely to fly, Ought not to be esteem'd inconstancy; "Tis more inconstant always to pursue

A thing that always flies from you;
For that at last may meet a bound,
But no end can to this be found,
'Tis nought but a perpetual fruitless round.

When it does hardness meet, and pride,
My love does then rebound to' another side;
But, if it aught that's soft and yielding hit,
It lodges there, and stays in it.
Whatever 'tis shall first love me,
That it my heaven may truly be,
I shall be sure to give❜t eternity.


By Heaven, I'll tell her boldly that 'tis she;
Why should she ashamed or angry be,
To be beloved by me?

The Gods may give their altars o'er;
They'll smoke but seldom any more,
If none but happy men must them adore.

The lightning, which tall oaks oppose in vain,
To strike sometimes does not disdain

The humble furzes of the plain.

She being so high, and I so low,

Her power by this does greater show,

Who at such a distance gives so sure a blow.

Compared with her, all things so worthless prove, That nought on earth can towards 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

As to pretend equality,

He deserves her less than I;

For he would cheat for his relief;

And one would give, with lesser grief, To' an undeserving beggar than a thief.


No; thou'rt a fool, I'll swear, if e'er thou grant :
Much of my veneration thou must want,
When once thy kindness puts my ignorance out;
For a learn'd age is always least devout.

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