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But as, when the Pellæan conqueror dy'd, The Thunderer, who, without the female bed,
Many small princes did his crown divide; Could goddesses bring-forth from out his head,
So, since my love his vanquish'd'world forsook, Chose rather mortals this way to create;
Murderd by poisons from her falsehood took, So much h' esteem'd his pleasure 'bove his state.
An hundred petty kings claim each their part, Ye talk of fires which shine, but never burn;
And rend that glorious empire of her heart. In this cold world they'll hardly serve our turn;

As useless to despairing lovers grown,

As lambent flames to men i'th' frigid zone.

The Sun does his pure fires on Earth bestow

With nuptial warmth, to bring-forth things bec Her body is so gently bright,

low; Clear and transparent to the sight,

Such is Love's noblest and divinest heat, (Clear as fair crystal to the view,

That warms like his, and does, like his, beget.
Yet soft as that, ere stone it grew)

Lust you call this; a name to yours more just,
That through her flesh, methinks, is seen If an inordinate desire be lust:
The brighter soul that dwells within :

Pygmalion, loving what none can enjoy,
Our eyes the subtile covering pass,

More lustful was, than the hot youth of Troy.
And see that lily through its glass.
I through her breast her heart espy,
As souls in hearts do souls descry:
I see 't with gentle motions beat;

I see light in 't, but find no heat.
Within, like angels in the sky,
A thousand gilded thoughts do fly;

Thoughts of bright and noblest kind,
Fair and chaste as mother-mind.

What new-found witchcraft was in thee,
But oh! what other heart is there,

With thine own cold to kindle me? Which sighs and crouds to her's so near? Strange art! like him that should devise 'Tis all on flame, and does, like fire,

To make a burning-glass of ice : To that, as to its Heaven, aspire !

When Winter so, the plants would harm, The wounds are many in 't and deep;

Her snow itself does keep them warm. Still does it bleed, and still does weep!

Fool that I was! who, having found Whose-ever wretched heart it be,

A rich and sunny diamond, I cannot choose but grieve to see:

Admir'd the hardness of the stone, What pity in my breast does reign!

But not the light with which it shone, Methinks I feel too all its pain.

Your brave and haughty scorn of all So torn, and so defac'd, it lies,

Was stately and monarchical ;
That it could ne'er be known by th' eyes; All gentleness, with that esteem'd,
But oh! at last I heard it groan,

A dull and slavish virtue seer'd;
And knew by th' voice that 'twas mine own. Should'st thou have yielded then to me,
So poor Alcione, when she saw

Thou 'dst lost what I most lov'd in thee;
A shipwreck'd body tow'rds her draw,

For who would serve one, whom he sees Beat by the waves, let fall a tear,

That he can conquer if he please?
Which only then did pity wear :

It far'd with me, as if a slave
But, when the corpse on shore were cast, In triumph led, that dues perceive
Which she her husband found at last,

With what a gay majestic pride
What should the wretched widow do?

His conqueror through the streets does ride,
Grief chang'd her straight; away she flew, Should be contented with his woe,
Turn'd to a bird : and so at last shall I

Which makes up such a comely show.
Both from my murder'd heart and murderer iy. I sought not from thee a return,

But without hopes or fears did burn;

My covetous passion did approve
ANSWER TO THE PLATONICS. The hoarding-up, not use, of love.

My love a kind of dream was grown,
So angels love; so let them love for me; A foolish, but a pleasant one:
When I'm all soul, such shall my love too be : From which I'm waken'd now; but, oh!
Who nothing here but like a spirit would do, Prisoners to die are waken'd so;
In a short time, believe 't, will be one too. For now th' effects of loving are
Eut, shall our love do what beasts we see? Nothing but longings, with despair:
Ev'n beasts eat too, but not so well as we: Despair, whose torments no men, sure,
And you as justly might in thirst refuse

But lovers and the damn'd, endure.
The use of wine, because beasts water use: Her scurn I doated once upon,
They taste those pleasures as they do their food; | Il object for affection;
Undress'd they take 't, devour it raw and crude: But since, alas! too much 'tis pror'd,
But to us men, Love cooks it at his fire, That yet 'twas something that I lov'd;
And adds the poignant sauce of sharp desire. Now my desires are worse, and fly
Leasts do the same: 'tis true ; but ancient Fame At an impossibility:
Says, gods themselves turu'd beasts to do the Desires which, whilst so high they soar,

Are proud as that I luv'd bufure.

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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


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


Call in the States of Holland to their aid.


'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 gif: his ignorance did remove,
Pleasures he chose, and plac'd them all in love.

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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.


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.

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!

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!

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"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,

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

in me?"

And all beyond is vast eternity!


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 deserve

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 feaste
A thousand more will added be,

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And still thy shape does me pursue, At once, with double course in the same sphere, As if, not you me, but I had murder'd you.

He runs the day, and walks the year.
From books I strive some remedy to take,

When Sol does to myself refer,
But thy rame all the letters make; 'Tis then my life, and does but slowly move;
Whate'er 'tis writ, I find that there,

But when it does relate to her,
Like points and commas every where :

It swiftly flies, and then is lore.
Me blest for this let no man hold; Love's my diurnal course, divided right,
For I, as Midas did of old,

"Twixt hope and foar--my day and night.
Perish by tuning 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.

Take heed, take heed, thou lovely maid,
My pains resemble Hell in this ;

Nor be by glittering ills betray'd;
The Divine Presence there too is,

Thyself for money! oh, let no man know
But to torment men, not to give them bliss.

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? ALL-OVER LOVE.

The foolish Indian, that sells 'Tis well, 'tis well with them, say I,

His precious gold for beads and bells, Whose short-liv'd passions with themselves can Does a more wise and gainful traffic hold, die;

Than thou, who sell's' thyself for gold. For none can be unhappy, who,

What gains in such a bargain are? Midst all his ills, a time does know

He'll in thy mines Jig better treasures far. (Though ne'er so long) when he shall not be so.

Can gold, alas ! with thee compare ? Whatever parts of me remain.

The Sun, that makes it, 's not so fair; Those parts will still the love of thee retain ; The Sun, which can nor make nor ever sce For 'twas not only in my heart,

A thing so beautiful as thee, But, like a god, by powerful art

In all the journeys he does pass, 'Twas all in all, and all in every part.

Though the sea serv'd him for a looking-glass. My affection no more perish can

Bold was the wretch that cheapen'd thee; Than the first matter that compounds a man. Since Magus, none so bold as he: Hereafter, if one dust of me

Thou 'rt so divine a thing, that thee to buy Mix'd with another's substance be,

Is to be counted simony ; 'Twill leaven that whole lump with love of thee. Too dear he 'll find his sordid price Let Nature, if she please, disperse

Has forfeited that and the benefice. My atoms over all the universe ;

If it be lawful thee to buy,
At the last they easily shall

There's none can pay that rate but I;
Themselves know, and together call ; Nothing on Earth a fitting price can be,
For thy love, like a mark, is stamp'd on all.

But what on Earth's most like to thee;

And that my heart does only bear;

For there thyself, thy very self is there. "LOVE AND LIFE.

So much thyself does in me live, Now, sure, within this twelvemonth past,

That, when it for thyself I give, l'ave lov'd at least some twenty years or more:

'Tis but to change that piece of gold for this, Th' account of love runs much more fast

Whose stamp and value equal is; Than that with which our life does score :

And, that full weight too may be had, So, though my life he sbort, yet I may prove

My soul and body, two grains more, I 'll add. The great Methusalem of love.

Not that love's bours 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:

Love from Time's wings hath stol'n the feathers,
Thin airy things extend themselves in space,
Things solid take up little place.

He has, and put them to his own;

For hours, of late, : long as days endure,
Yet love, alas ! and life in me,
Are not two several things, but purely one;

And very minutes hours are grown.
At once how can there in it be

The various motions of the turning year A double, different motion ?

Belong not now at all to me: O yes, there may; for so the self-same Sun Each summer's night does Lucy's now appear, At once does slow and swiftly run :

Each winter's day St. Barnaby. Swiftly his daily journey he goes,

How long a space since first I lov'd it is !
But treads his annual with a statelier pace;

To look into a glass I fear;
And does three hundred rounds enclose And am surpriz'd with wonder when I miss
Within one yearly circle's space;

Gray hairs and wrinkles there.


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

ness too,

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,

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' th' shortness of the days of man :

Contract mine, Heaven! and bring them back Though 't could next voyage bring the Indies



To th' 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 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?
Ferhaps 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.

'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.

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