Page images
PDF
EPUB

COWLEY.

SONG.

HERE's to thee, Dick-this whining love despise; Pledge me, my friend, and drink till thou be wife. It sparkles brighter far than fhe;

'Tis pure and bright, without deceit, And fuch no woman e'er will be:

No, they are all sophisticate.

Follies they have so numberless in store,

That only he who loves them can have more.

Neither their fighs nor tears are true,
Thofe idly blow, these idly fall,

Nothing like to ours at all:

But fighs and tears have sexes too.

Here's to thee again; thy senseless forrows drown'd,

Let the glass walk till all thy griefs go round;

Again! till these two lights be four;

No error here can dangerous prove, Thy paffion, man, deceiv'd thee more; None double fee like men in love.

THE SPRING.

THOUGH you be absent here, I needs must say
The trees as beauteous are, and flowers as gay
As ever they were wont to be.

Nay, the birds' rural music too

Is as melodious and as free

As if they fung to pleasure you.

I faw a rofe-bud ope this morn-I swear,
The blushing morning opened not more fair.

I

THE REQUEST.

ASK not one in whom all beauties grow-
Let me but love, whate'er fhe be,

She cannot feem deform'd to me;

And I would have her feem to others fo.
That happy thing, a lover, grown

I fhall not fee with others'

own.

eyes-scarce with

But do not touch my heart, and so be gone:

Strike deep thy burning arrows in:
Lukewarmnefs I account a fin

As great in love as in religion.

Come arm'd with flames, for I would
All the extremities of mighty love!

prove

my

"Tis very true. I thought you once as fair

As woman in th' idea are:

Whatever here feems beauteous, feem'd to me
But a faint metaphor of thee,

But then, methinks, there fomething fhone within
Which caft this luftre o'er thy skin.

But fince I knew thy falfehood, and thy pride,
And all thy thousand faults befide;

A very Moor, methinks, plac'd near to thee,
White as his teeth would seem to be ;

Nay, when the world but knows how false you are,
There's not a man will think

you fair.

THE CHANGE,

Love in her funny eyes does basking play,
Love walks the pleasant mazes of her hair,
Love does on both her lips for ever stray,
And fows and reaps a thousand kiffes there:
In all her outward parts love's always feen,
But, Oh! he never went within.

THE SOUL.

Ir mine eyes do e'er declare

They 've seen a fecond thing that's fair,
Or ears, that they have mufic found,
Befides thy voice, in any found;
If my taste do ever meet

After thy kifs, with ought that's sweet; my bufied touch allow

If

Ought to be smooth, or soft, but thou;

If, what seasonable springs

Or the eastern fummer brings,

Do my smell perfuade at all;
Ought perfume but thy breath to call;
May I as worthless seem to thee,
As all but thou appear to me,

If I ever anger know,

Till fome wrong be done to you;
If ever I a hope admit,

Without thy image ftamp'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 taftes of any thing but thee;

If

any forrow touch my mind

Whilft you are well and not unkind;

If I a minute's space debate,

Whether I fhall curfe or hate

The things beneath thy hatred fall,

Though all the world, myself and all;
If any paffion of my heart,

By any force or any art,

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

THE WISH.

WELL, then; I now do plainly fee
This bufy world and I shall ne'er agree.
The very honey of all earthly joy
Does of all meats the fooneft cloy;

And they, methinks, deferve my pity,

Who for it can endure the stings,
The crowd, and buz, and murmurings,
Of that great hive, the city.

Ah! yet, ere I descend to the grave,

May I a small house and a large garden have;

And a few friends, and many books, both true, Both wife, and both delightful too!

« PreviousContinue »