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.

AGAINST FRUITION.

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.
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.

LOVE UNDISCOVERED.
SOME others may with safety tell
The moderate flames which in them dwell;
And either find some med'cine there,
Or cure themselves ev'n by despair;
My love's so great, that it might prove
Dangerous to tell her that I love.
So tender is my wound, it must not bear
Any salute, though of the kindest air,

I would not have her know the pain,
The torments, for her I sustain;
Lest too much goodness make her throw
Her love upon a fate too low.

Forbid it, Heaven! my life should be
Weigh'd with her least conveniency:
No, let me perish rather with my grief,
Than, to her disadvantage, find relief!

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.

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.
If so it be one place both hearts contain,
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, tako,
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 descry;
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

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 RESOLUTION.

THE Devil take those foolish men

Who gave you first such powers;
We stood on even grounds till then;

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.

CALLED INCONSTANT.

HA! ha! you think you've kill'd my fame,
By this not understood, yet common, name:
A name that's full and proper, when assign'd
To woman-kind;

But, when you call us so,

It can at best but for a metaphor go.

Can you the shore inconstant call,
Which still, as waves pass by, embraces all;
That had as lief the same waves always love,
Did they not from him move?

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,

THE WELCOME,

Go, let the fatted calf be kill'd;
My prodigal's come home at last,
With noble resolutions fill'd,

And fill'd with sorrow for the past:
No more will burn with love or wine;
But quite has left his women and his swine.
Welcome, ah! welcome, my poor Heart!
Welcome! I little thought, I'll swear
('Tis now so long since we did part)
Ever again to see thee here:

Dear wanderer! since from me you fled,
How often have I heard that thou wert dead!
Hast thou not found each woman's breast
(The lands where thou hast travelled)
Either by savages possest,

Or wild, and uninhabited?
What joy could'st take, or what repose,
In countries so unciviliz'd as those?

Lust, the scorching dog-star, here
Rages with immoderate heat;
Whilst Pride, the rugged northern bear,
In others makes the cold too great:

And where these are temperate known,
The soil 's all barren sand or rocky stone.
When once or twice you chanc'd to view
A rich, well-govern'd heart,

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,
If any fair-one had been kind:

My dove, but once let loose, I doubt
Would ne'er return, had not the lood been out.

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.
Ev'n so the gentle Tyrian dame,

When neither grief nor love prevail,
Saw the dear object of her flame,

Th' ingrateful Trojan, hoist his sail :
Aloud she call'd to him to stay;
The wind bore him and her lost words away.
The doleful Ariadne so,

On the wide shore forsaken stood:
"False Theseus whither dost thou go?"
Afar false Theseus cut the flood.
But Bacchus came to her relief;
Bacchus himself 's too weak to ease my grief.
Ah! senseless Heart, to take no rest,
But travel thus eternally!
Thus to be froz'n in every breast!

And to be scorch'd in every eye!
Wandering about like wretched Cain,
Thrust-out, ill-us'd, by all, but by none slain !
Well, since thou wilt not here remain,
I'll e'en to live without thee try;

My head shall take the greater pain,
And all thy duties shall supply:
I can more easily live, I know,
Without thee, than without a mistress thou.

n-kind

WOMEN'S SUPERSTITION.
OR I'm a very dunce, or woman-
Is a most unintelligible thing:
I.can no sense nor no contexture find,
Nor their loose parts to method bring:
I know not what the learn'd may see,
But they 're strange Hebrew things to me,

By customs and traditions they live,
And foolish ceremonies of antique date;
We lovers, new and better doctrines give,
Yet they continue obstinate:

Preach we, Love's prophets, what we will,
Like Jews, they keep their old law still,

Before their mothers' gods they fondly fall,
Vain idol-gods, that have no sense nor mind:
Honour's their Ashtaroth, and Pride their Baal,
The thundering Baal of woman-kind;
With twenty other devils more,
Which they, as we do them, adore.

But then, like men both covetous and devout,
Their costly superstition loth t' omit-
And yet more loth to issue monies out,

At their own charge to furnish it-
To these expensive deities

The hearts of men they sacrifice.

THE SOUL.

SOME dull philosopher--when he hears me say
My soul is from me fled away,

Nor has of late inform'd my body here,
But in another's breast does lie,
That neither is, nor will be, I,

As a form servient and assisting there-
Will cry," Absurd!" and ask me how I live;
And syllogisms against it give.

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!
Thy flame, whilst living, or a flower,
Was of less beauty, and less ravishing power.
Alas! I might as easily

Paint thee to her, as describe her to thee.
By repercussion beams engender fire;

Shapes by reflection shapes beget;
The voice itself, when stopt, does back retire,
And a new voice is made by it.
Thus things by opposition

The gainers grow; my barren love alone
Does from her stony breast rebound,
Producing neither image, fire, nor sound.

VOL. VII.

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;
Lovers are better friends than they ;
Let's those in other things obey;
The fates, and stars, and gods, must govern
here.

Vain names of blood! in love let none
Advise with any blood, but with their own.
'Tis that which bids me this bright maid adore;
No other thought has had access!
Did she now beg, I'd love no less,
And, were she an empress, I should love no more;
Were she as just and true to me,

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:

I

Sire of Repentance! child of fond Desire!
That blow'st the chymics', and the lovers', fire,
Leading them still insensibly' on

By the strange witchcraft of "anon!"
By thee the one does changing Nature, through
Her endless labyrinths, pursue;
And th' other chases woman, whilst she goes
More ways and turns than hunted Nature knows.

FOR HOPE.

HOPE! of all ills that men endure,
The only cheap and universal cure! [health!
Thou captive's freedom, and thou sick man's
Thou loser's victory, and thou beggar's wealth!

Thou manna, which from Heaven we eat,
To every taste a several meat!

Thou strong retreat! thou sure-entail'd estate,
Which nought has power to alienate!
Thou pleasant, honest flatterer! for none
Flatter unhappy men, but thou alone!

Hope! thou first-fruits of happiness!
Thou gentle dawning of a bright success!
Thou good preparative, without which our joy
Does work too strong, and, whilst it cures, de-

stroy!

Who out of Fortune's reach dost stand,
And art a blessing still in hand!

Whilst thee, her earnest-money, we retain,
We certain are to gain,

Whether she her bargain break, or else fulfil;
Thou only good, not worse for ending ill!

Brother of Faith! 'twixt whom and thee
The joys of Heaven and Earth divided be!
Though Faith be heir, and have the fixt estate,
Thy portion yet in moveables is great.
Happiness itself's all one
In thee, or in possession!
Only the future's thine, the present his!

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,
To which all soon return that travel out.

LOVE'S INGRATITUDE,

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,
Letting thee suck thy fill;

And daintily I nourish'd thee
With idle thoughts and poetry!

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,
Not fearing from it any harm;

But now it stings that breast which made it warm.
What cursed weed's this Love! but one grain sow,
And the whole field 'twill overgrow;
Straight will it choak up and devour

Each wholesome herb and beauteous flower!
Nay, unless something soon I do,
'Twill kill, I fear, my very laurel too.
But now all's gone-I now, alas! complain,
Declare, protest, and threat, in vain;
Since, by my own unforc'd consent,
The traitor has my government,
And is so settled in the throne,

That 'twere rebellion now to claim mine own,

THE FRAILTY.

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;
Yet to what purpose do I bite

With teeth which ne'er will break it quite!
For, if the chiefest Christian head
Was by this sturdy tyrant buffeted,
What wonder is it if weak I be slain ?

Thou, like fair Albion to the sailor's sight,
Spreading her beauteous bosom all in white;
Like the kind Ocean I will be,
With loving arms for ever clasping thee.
But I'll embrace thee gentlier far than so;
As their fresh banks soft rivers do:
Nor shall the proudest planet boast a power
Of making my full love to ebb one hour;
It never dry or low can prove,
Whilst thy unwasted fountain feeds my love.
Such heat and vigour shall our kisses bear,

As if like doves w' engender'd there:
No bound nor rule my pleasures shall endure,
In love there's none too much an epicure:

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.

SLEEP.

Ix vain, thou drowsy god! I thee invoke;
For thou, who dost from fumes arise-
Thou, who man's soul dost overshade
With a thick cloud by vapours made-
Canst have no power to shut his eyes,

Or passage of his spirits to choke,
Whose flame's so pure that it sends up no smoke.
Yet how do tears but from such vapours rise?
Tears, that bewinter all my year?
The fate of Egypt I sustain,
And never feel the dew of rain,
From clouds which in the head appear;
But all my too much moisture owe

To overflowings of the heart below.

Thou, who dost men (as nights to colours do)
Bring all to an equality!

Come, thou just god! and equal me
Awhile to my disdainful She:
In that condition let me lie,

Till Love does me the favour shew:
Love equals all a better way than you.

Then never more shalt thou b'invok'd by me;
Watchful as spirits and gods I'll prove:

Let her but grant, and then will I
Thee and thy kinsman Death defy;
For, betwixt thee and them that love,
Never will an agreement be;

Thou scorn'st th' unhappy, and the happy, thee!

BEAUTY.

BEAUTY! thou wild fantastic ape,

Who dost in every country change thy shape!

Here black, there brown, here tawny, and there

white;

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!
Thou tulip, who thy stock in paint dost waste,
Neither for physic good, nor smell, nor taste.
Beauty! whose flames but meteors are,
Short-liv'd and low, though thou would'st seem
a star;

Who dar'st not thine own home descry,
Pretending to dwell richly in the eye,
When thou, alas! dost in the fancy lie.

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!

THE PARTING.

As men in Greenland left beheld the Sun
From their horizon run,

And thought upon the sad half-year
Of cold and darkness they must suffer there
So on my parting mistress did I look;

With such swoln eyes my farewell took :
Ah, my fair star! said I;

Ah, those blest lands to which bright Thou dost fly!

In vain the men of learning comfort me,
And say I'm in a warm degree;
Say what they please, I say and swear
'Tis beyond eighty at least, if you 're not here.
It is, it is; I tremble with the frost,

And know that I the day have lost;
And those wild things which men they call,

I find to be but bears or foxes all.

Return, return, gay planet of mine East,

Of all that shines thou much the best!
And, as thou now descend'st to sea,
More fair and fresh rise up from thence to me
Thou, who in many a propriety,

So truly art the Sun to me,