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THE SOUL.

Ir mine eyes do e'er declare

They've seen a second thing that's fair;
Or ears, that they have music found,
Besides thy voice, in any sound;

If my taste do ever meet,

After thy kiss, with aught that 's sweet;
If my abused touch allow

Aught to be smooth, or soft, but you;
If what seasonable springs,
Or the eastern summer brings,
Do my smell persuade at all

Aught perfume, but thy breath, to call;
If all my senses' objects be
Not contracted into thee,

And so through thee more powerful pass,
As beams do through a burning-glass;
If all things that in Nature are
Either soft, or sweet, or fair,
Be not in thee so' epitomis'd,

That nought material's not compris'd;
May I as worthless seem to thee,
As all, but thou, appears to me!

If I ever anger know,

Till some wrong be done to you;

If gods or kings my envy move,

Without their crowns crown'd by thy love;
If ever I a hope admit,

Without thy image stamp'd on it;
Or any fear, till I begin

To find that you 're concern'd therein;
If a joy e'er come to me,

That tastes of any thing but thee;
If any sorrow touch my mind,
Whilst you are well, and not unkind;
If I a minute's space debate,
Whether I shall curse and hate
The things beneath thy hatred fall,
Though all the world, myself and all;
And for love, if ever I
Approach to it again so nigh,
As to allow a toleration

To the least glimmering inclination;
If thou alone dost not control
All those tyrants of my soul,

And to thy beauties ty'st them so,
That constant they as habits grow;

If any passion of my heart,

By any force, or any art,

Be brought to move one step from thee,
May'st thou no passion have for me!

If my busy Imagination,

Do not thee in all things fashion;

So that all fair species be
Hieroglyphic marks of thee;
If when she her sports does keep
(The lower soul being all asleep)
She play one dream, with all her art,
Where thou hast not the longest part;
If aught get place in my remembrance,
Without some badge of thy resemblance,
So that thy parts become to me
A kind of art of memory;

If my Understanding do
Seek any knowledge but of you;
If she do near thy body prize
Her bodies of philosophies;

If she to the will do shew
Aught desirable but you;
Or, if that would not rebel,
Should she another doctrine tell;
If my Will do not resign
All her liberty to thine;
If she would not follow thee,

Though Fate and thou should'st disagree;
And if (for I a curse will give,
Such as shall force thee to believe)
My Soul be not entirely thine;
May thy dear body ne'er be mine!

THE PASSIONS.

FROM Hate, Fear, Hope, Anger, and Envy, free,
And all the passions else that be,
In vain I boast of liberty,

In vain this state a freedom call;
Since I have Love, and Love is all:
Sot that I am, who think it fit to brag
That I have no disease besides the plague!
So in a zeal the sons of Israel

Sometimes upon their idols fell,
And they depos'd the powers of Hell;
Baal and Astarte down they threw,
And Acharon and Moloch too:
All this imperfect piety did no good,
Whilst yet, alas! the calf of Bethel stood.
Fondly I boast, that I have drest my vine
With painful art, and that the wine
Is of a taste rich and divine;
Since Love, by mixing poison there,
Has made it worse than vinegar.

Love ev'n the taste of nectar changes so,
That gods chuse rather water here below.

Fear, Anger, Hope, all passions else that be,
Drive this one tyrant out of me,
And practise all your tyranny!
The change of ills some good will do:
Th' oppressed wretched Indians so,
Being slaves by the great Spanish monarch

made,

Call in the States of Holland to their aid.

WISDOM.

'Tis mighty wise that you would now be thought,
With your grave rules from musty morals brought;
Through which some streaks too of divin'ty ran,
Partly of monk and partly puritan ;
With tedious repetitions too you 'ave ta'en
Often the name of Vanity in vain.
Things which, I take it, friend, you'd ne'er recite,
Should she I love but say t you,
"Come at

night."
The wisest king refus'd all pleasures quite,
Till Wisdom from above did him enlight;
But, when that gift his ignorance did remove,
Pleasures he chose, and plac'd them all in love.

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THE DESPAIR.

BENEATH this gloomy shade,

By Nature only for my sorrows made,
I'll spend this voice in cries;

In tears I'll waste these eyes,
By love so vainly fed;

So Lust, of old, the Deluge punished.

"Ah, wretched youth "" said I ;

"Ah, wretched youth!" twice did I sadly cry; "Ah, wretched youth!" the fields and floods reply.

When thoughts of love I entertain,

I meet no words but "Never,” and “ In vain." "Never," alas! that dreadful name Which fuels the eternal flame:

"Never" my time to come must waste; "In vain" torments the present and the past. "In vain, in vain," said I ;

« In vain, in vain !" twice did I sadly cry;
"In vain, in vain !" the fields and floods reply.

No more shall fields and floods do so;
For I to shades more dark and silent go:
All this world's noise appears to me
A dull, ill acted comedy:

No comfort to my wounded sight,
In the Sun's busy and impertinent light.

Then down I laid my head,

Down on cold earth; and for a while was dead,
And my freed soul to a strange somewhere fled.

"Ah, sottish soul!” said I,

When back to its cage again I saw it fly;
"Fool, to resume her broken chain,
And row her galley here again!
Fool, to that body to return

Where it condemn'd and destin'd is to burn!

Once dead, how can it be,

Death should a thing so pleasant seem to thee,

And, since love ne'er will from me flee,
A mistress moderately fair,

And good as guardian-angels are,

Only belov'd, and loving me!

Oh, fountains! when in you shall I
Myself, eas'd of unpeaceful thoughts, espy?
Oh fields! oh woods! when, when shall I be made
The happy tenant of your shade ?

Here's the spring-head of Pleasure's flood;
Where all the riches lie, that she

Has coin'd and stamp'd for good.

Pride and ambition here

Only in far-fetch'd metaphors appear;

Here nought but winds can hurtful murmurs scatter,

And nought but Echo flatter.

The gods, when they descended, hither
From Heaven did always chuse their way;
And therefore we may boldly say,

That 'tis the way too thither.

How happy here should I,

And one dear she, live, and embracing die!
She, who is all the world, and can exclude
In deserts solitude.

I should have then this only fear-
Lest men, when they my pleasures see,
Should hither throng to live like me,
And so make a city here.

MY DIET.

Now, by my Love, the greatest oath that is,
None loves you half so well as I:

I do not ask your love for this;
But for Heaven's sake believe me, or I die.

No servant e'er but did descrve
His master should believe that he does serve;
And I'll ask no more wages, though I starve.
'Tis no luxurious diet this, and sure

I shall not by 't too lusty prove ;
Yet shall it willingly endure,
If 't can but keep together life and love.
Being your prisoner and your slave,

I do not feasts and banquets look to have;
A little bread and water's all I crave.

On a sigh of pity I a year can live;

One tear will keep me twenty, at least;
Fifty, a gentle look will give;

An hundred years on one kind word I'll feast:
A thousand more will added be,

That thou should'st come to live it o'er again If you an inclination have for me;

in me?"

THE WISH.

WELL then; I now do plainly see
This busy world and I shall ne'er agree;
The very honey of all earthly joy

Does of all meats the soonest cloy;
And they, methinks, deserve my pity,
Who for it can endure the stings,
The crowd, and buz, and murmurings,
Of this great hive, the city.

Ah, yet, ere I descend to th' grave,
May I a small house and large garden have!
And a few friends, and many books, both true,
Both wise, and both delightful too!

And all beyond is vast eternity!

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And still thy shape does me pursue, As if, not you me, but I had murder'd you. From books I strive some remedy to take,

But thy name all the letters make;
Whate'er 'tis writ, I find that there,
Like points and commas every where:
Me blest for this let no man hold;
For I, as Midas did of old,
Perish by turning every thing to gold.
What do I seek, alas! or why do I

Attempt in vain from thee to fly?
For making thee my deity,
I gave the then ubiquity.

My pains resemble Hell in this;
The Divine Presence there too is,

But to torment men, not to give them bliss.

ALL-OVER LOVE.

'Tis well, 'tis well with them, say I, Whose short-liv'd passions with themselves can die;

For none can be unhappy, who,

'Midst all his ills, a time does know (Though ne'er so long) when he shall not be so.

Whatever parts of me remain.
Those parts will still the love of thee retain;
For 'twas not only in my heart,
But, like a god by powerful art
'Twas all in all, and all in every part.

My affection no more perish can
Than the first matter that compounds a man.
Hereafter, if one dust of me

Mix'd with another's substance be, 'Twill leaven that whole lump with love of thee.

Let Nature, if she please, disperse My atoms over all the universe;

At the last they easily shall Themselves know, and together call; For thy love, like a mark, is stamp'd on all.

LOVE ANDd life.

Now, sure, within this twelvemonth past, I'ave lov'd at least some twenty years or more: Th' account of love runs much more fast Than that with which our life does score: So, though my life be short, yet I may prove The great Methusalem of love.

Not that love's hours or minutes are Shorter than those our being 's measur'd by:

But they're more close compacted far,
And so in lesser room do lie :
Thin airy things extend themselves in space,
Things solid take up little place.

Yet love, alas! and life in me,
Are not two several things, but purely one;
At once how can there in it be
A double, different motion?

O yes, there may; for so the self-same Sun
At once does slow and swiftly run:
Swiftly his daily journey he goes,
But treads his annual with a statelier pace;
And does three hundred rounds enclose
Within one yearly circle's space;

At once, with double course in the same sphere, He runs the day, and walks the year. When Sol does to myself refer,

'Tis then my life, and does but slowly move; But when it does relate to her,

It swiftly flies, and then is love. Love's my diurnal course, divided right, 'Twixt hope and fear-my day and night.

THE BARGAIN.

TAKE heed, take heed, thou lovely maid,
Nor be by glittering ills betray'd;
Thyself for money! oh, let no man know

The price of beauty fall'n so low !

What dangers ought'st thou not to dread, When Love, that's blind, is by blind Fortune led? The foolish Indian, that sells

His precious gold for beads and bells, Does a more wise and gainful traffic hold,

Than thou, who sell'st thyself for gold. What gains in such a bargain are ? He'll in thy mines dig better treasures far.

Can gold, alas! with thee compare? The Sun, that makes it, 's not so fair; The Sun, which can nor make nor ever see A thing so beautiful as thee,

In all the journeys he does pass, Though the sea serv'd him for a looking-glass. Bold was the wretch that cheapen'd thee; Since Magus, none so bold as he : Thou 'rt so divine a thing, that thee to buy Is to be counted simony;

Too dear he 'll find his sordid price
Has forfeited that and the benefice.

If it be lawful thee to buy,
There's none can pay that rate but I ;
Nothing on Earth a fitting price can be,

But what on Earth's most like to thee;
And that my heart does only bear;
For there thyself, thy very self is there.

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.

THE LONG LIFE.

Love from Time's wings hath stol❜n the feathers,

Sure

He has, and put them to his own;
For hours, of late, as long as days endure,

And very 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 lov'd it is!
To look into a glass I fear;
And am surpriz'd with wonder when I miss
Gray hairs and wrinkles there.

Th' old Patriarchs' age, and not their happi- | The needle trembles so, and turns about,

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Do but awhile 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;
Med'cines 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!

Ev'n thy dissuasions me persuade,
And thy great power does clearest shine,
When thy commands are disobey'd,
In vain thou bid'st me to forbear;
Obedience were rebellion here.
Thy tongue comes in, as if it meant
Against thine eyes t' assist mine heart:
'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' th' triumph chose to get, Rather than be a part of it.

RESOLVED TO BE BELOVED. 'Tis true, l'ave lov'd 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.

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.

THE SAME.

FOR
OR 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 chuse,

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 t' 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.

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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,
As to pretend equality,

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.

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.

AGAINST FRUITION.

I

THE GIVEN HEART.

WONDER what those lovers mean, who say They 'ave given their hearts away: Some good kind lover, tell me how: For mine is but a torment to me now.

No; thou'rt a fool, I'll swear, if e'er thou grant; If so it be one place both hearts contain,

Much of my veneration thou must want,
When once thy kindness puts my ignorance out;
For a learn'd age is always least devout.
Keep still thy distance; for at once to me
Goddess and woman too thou canst not be:
Thou 'rt queen of all that sees thee, and as such
Must neither tyrannize nor yield too much;
Such freedoms give as may admit command,
But keep the forts and magazines in hand.
Thou 'rt yet a whole world to me, and dost fill
My large ambition; but 'tis dangerous still,
Lest I like the Pellæan prince should be,
And weep for other worlds, having conquer'd thee:
When Love has taken all thou hast away,
His strength by too much riches will decay,
Thou in my fancy dost much higher stand,
Than women can be plac'd by Nature's hand;
And I must needs, I'm sure, a loser be,
To change thee, as thou'rt there, for very thee.
Thy sweetness is so much within me plac'd,
That, should'st thou nectar give, 'twould spoil the
taste.

Beauty at first moves wonder and delight;

'Tis Nature's juggling trick to cheat the sight.
W'admire it whilst unknown; but after, more
Admire ourselves for liking it before.
Love, like a greedy hawk, if we give way,
Does over-gorge himself with his own prey;
Of very hopes a surfeit he'll sustain,
Unless by fears he cast them up again:
His spirit and sweetness dangers keep alone;
If once he lose his sting, he grows a drone.

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For what do they complain?
What courtesy can Love do more,
Than to join hearts that parted were before?
Woe to her stubborn heart, if once mine come
Into the self-same room;

"Twill tear and blow up all within,
Like a granado shot into a magazine.
Then shall Love keep the ashes and torn parts
Of both our broken hearts;

Shall out of both one new one make,

From her's th' allay, from mine the metal, take,

For of her heart he from the flames will find
But little left behind:

Mine only will remain entire ;

No dross was there, to perish in the fire.

THE PROPHET.

TEACH me to love! go teach thyself more wit;
I chief professor am of it.

Teach craft to Scots, and thrift to Jews,
Teach boldness to the stews;

In tyrants' courts teach supple flattery;
Teach Jesuits, that have travell'd far, to lie;
Teach fire to burn, and winds to blow,
Teach restless fountains how to flow,
Teach the dull Earth fixt to abide,
Teach women-kind inconstancy and pride:
See if your diligence here will useful prove;
But, pr'ythee, teach not me to love.
The god of love, if such a thing there be,
May learn to love from me;

He who does boast that he has been
'In every heart since Adam's sin;
I'll lay my life, nay mistress, on't, that's more,
I'll teach him things he never knew before;
I'll teach him a receipt, to make
Words that weep, and tears that speak;
I'll teach him sighs, like those in death,
At which the souls go out too with the breath;
Still the soul stays, yet still does from me run
As light and heat does with the Sun.
'Tis I who Love's Columbus am; 'tis I
Who must new worlds in it desery;
Rich worlds, that yield a treasure more
Than all that has been known before.
And yet like his, I fear, my fate must be,
To find them out for others, not for me,

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