A thing God thought for mankind so unfit,

That his first blessing ruin'd it.

Cold, frozen nurse of fiercest fires ! Who, like the parched plains of Afric's sand (A sterile, and a wild unlovely land !)

Art always scorch'd with hot desires,

Yet barren quite, didst thou not bring Monsters and serpents forth thyself to sting! Thou that bewitchest men whilst thou dost dwell

Like a close conjurer in his cell,

And fear'st the day's discovering eye! No wonder 'tis at all that thou shouldst be Such tedious and unpleasant company,

Who livest so melancholily!

Thou thing of subtile, slippery kind,
Which women lose, and yet no man can find !
Although I think thou never found wilt be,

Yet I'm resolved to search for thee;

The search itself rewards the pains : So, though the chemic his great secret miss (For neither it in Art nor Nature is)

Yet things well worth his toil he gains;

And does his charge and labour pay
With good unsought experiments by the way.
Say what thou wilt, chastity is no more

Thee, than a porter is his door.

In vain to honour they pretend, [walls ; Who guard themselves with ramparts and with Them only Fame the truly valiant calls,

Who can an open breach defend.

Of thy quick loss can be no doubt, Within so hated, and so loved without.


IMPOSSIBILITIES! oh no, there's none;

Could mine bring thy heart captive home; As easily other dangers were o’erthrown,

As Cæsar, after vanquish'd Rome, His little Asian foes did overcome. True lovers oft by Fortune are envied;

Oft earth and hell against them strive; But Providence engages on their side,

And a good end at last does give : At last, just men and lovers always thrive, As stars (not powerful else) when they conjoin,

Change, as they please, the world's estate; So thy heart in conjunction with mine

Shall our own fortunes regulate ; And to our stars themselves prescribe a fate. 'Twould grieve me much to find some bold romance,

That should two kind examples show, Which before us in wonders did advance ;

Not that I thought that story true, But none should Fancy more, than I would Do. Through spite of our worst enemies, thy friends;

Through local banishment from thee; Through the loud thoughts of less-concerning ends, As easy shall

my passage be,
As was the amorous youth's o'er Helle's sea :
In vain the winds, in vain the billows, roar:

In vain the stars their aid deny’d;
He saw the Sestian tower on the other shore;

Shall the' Hellespont our loves divide ?
No, not the Atlantic ocean's boundless tide.
Such seas betwixt us easily conquer'd are ;

But, gentle maid! do not deny
To let thy beams shine on me from afar;

And still the taper let me espy:
For, when thy light goes out, I sink and die.

CURSE on this tongue, that has my heart betray'd,
And his great secret open

For, of all persons, chiefly she
Should not the ills I suffer know;
Since 'tis a thing might dangerous grow,
Only in her to pity me:
ince 'tis for me to lose my life more fit,
Than 'tis for her to save and ransom it.
Ah! never more shall thy unwilling ear

My helpless story hear;
Discourse and talk awake does keep
The rude unquiet pain
That in my breast does reign;

Silence perhaps may make it sleep:
I'll bind that sore up I did ill reveal;
The wound, if once it close, may chance to heal.
No, 'twill ne'er heal; my love will never die,

Though it should speechless lie.
A river, ere it meet the sea,
As well might stay its source,
As my love can his course,

Unless it join and mix with thee:

any end or stop of it be found, We know the flood runs still, though underground.



UNHURT, untouch'd, did I complain, And terrify'd all others with the pain :

But now I feel the mighty evil;

Ah! there's no fooling with the devil !
So, wanton men, whilst others they would fright,

Themselves have met a real sprite.
I thought, I'll

swear, an handsome lie Had been no sin at all in poetry ;

But now I suffer an arrest,

For words were spoke by me in jest. Dull, sottish God of love! and can it be

Thou understand'st not raillery?

Darts, and wounds, and flame, and heat, I named but for the rhyme, or the conceit;

Nor meant my verse should raised be

To this sad fame of prophecy :
Truth gives a dull propriety to my style,

And all the metaphors does spoil.

In things where fancy much does reign, "Tis dangerous too cunningly to feign;

The play at last a truth does grow,

And Custom into Nature go;
By this cursed art of begging I became
Lame with counterfeiting lame.

My lines of amorous desire
I wrote to kindle and blow others' fire;

And 'twas a barbarous delight

My fancy promised from the sight:
But now, my Love, the mighty Phalaris, I

My burning Bull the first do try.





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I NEVER yet could see that face

Which had no dart for me;
From fifteen years, to fifty's space,

They all victorious be.
Love, thou’rt a devil, if I may call thee one;
For sure in me thy name is Legion.
Colour, or shape, good limbs, or face,

Goodness, or wit, in all I find;
In motion or in speech a grace;

If all fail, yet 'tis woman-kind;
And I'm so weak, the pistol need not be
Double or treble charged to murder me.
If tall, the name of proper slays;

If fair, she's pleasant as the light;
If low, her prettiness does please;

If black, what lover loves not night? If yellow-hair'd, I love, lest it should be The' excuse to others for not loving me. The fat, like plenty, fills my heart;

The lean, with love, makes me too so:
If straight, her body's Cupid's dart

To me; if crooked, 'tis his bow :
Nay, age itself does me to rage incline,
And strength to women gives, as well as wine.
Just half as large as Charity

My richly-landed Love's become;
And, judged aright, is Constancy,

Though it take up a larger room :
Him, who loves always one, why should they call
More constant than the man loves always all ?

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