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But as, when the Pellaan conqueror dy'd,
Many small princes did his crown divide;
So, since my love his vanquish'd world forsook,
Murder'd by poisons from her falsehood took,
An hundred petty kings claim each their part,
And rend that glorious empire of her heart.


HER body is so gently bright,
Clear and transparent to the sight,
(Clear as fair crystal to the view,
Yet soft as that, ere stone it grew)
That through her flesh, methinks, is seen
The brighter soul that dwells within:
Our eyes the subtile covering pass,
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.
But oh! what other heart is there,
Which sighs and crouds to her's so near?
'Tis all on flame, and does, like fire,
To that, as to its Heaven, aspire!
The wounds are many in 't and deep;
Still does it bleed, and still does weep!
Whose-ever wretched heart it be,
I cannot choose but grieve to see:
What pity in my breast does reign!
Methinks I feel too all its pain.
So torn, and so defac'd, it lies,

That it could ne'er be known by th' eyes;
But oh! at last I heard it groan,

And knew by th' voice that 'twas mine own.
So poor Alcione, when she saw

A shipwreck'd body tow'rds her draw,
Beat by the waves, let fall a tear,
Which only then did pity wear :

But, when the corpse on shore were cast,
Which she her husband found at last,
What should the wretched widow do?
Grief chang'd her straight; away she flew,
Turn'd to a bird: and so at last shall I

Both from my murder'd heart and murderer fly.

ANSWER TO THE PLATONICS. So angels love; so let them love for me; When I'm all soul, such shall my love too be: Who nothing here but like a spirit would do, In a short time, believe 't, will be one too. Eut, shall our love do what in beasts we see? Ev'n beasts eat too, but not so well as we: And you as justly might in thirst refuse The use of wine, because beasts water use: They taste those pleasures as they do their food; Undress'd they take 't, devour it raw and crude: Eut to us men, Love cooks it at his fire, And adds the poignant sauce of sharp desire. Feasts do the same: 'tis true; but ancient Fame Says, gods themselves turn'd beasts to do the


The Thunderer, who, without the female bed,
Could goddesses bring-forth from out his head,
Chose rather mortals this way to create;
So much h' esteem'd his pleasure 'bove his state.
Ye talk of fires which shine, but never burn;
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 be-

Such is Love's noblest and divinest heat,

That warms like his, and does, like his, beget. Lust you call this; a name to yours more just, If an inordinate desire be lust:

Pygmalion, loving what none can enjoy,

More lustful was, than the hot youth of Troy.



WHAT new-found witchcraft was in thee,
With thine own cold to kindle me?
Strange art! like him that should devise
To make a burning-glass of ice :"
When Winter so, the plants would harm,
Her snow itself does keep them warm.
Fool that I was! who, having found
A rich and sunny diamond,
Admir'd the hardness of the stone,
But not the light with which it shone.
Your brave and haughty scorn of all
Was stately and monarchical;
All gentleness, with that esteem'd,
A dull and slavish virtue seem'd;
Should'st thou have yielded then to me,
Thou 'dst lost what I most lov'd in thee;
For who would serve one, whom he sees
That he can conquer if he please?
It far'd with me, as if a slave
In triumph led, that does perceive
With what a gay majestic pride

His conqueror through the streets does ride,
Should be contented with his woe,
Which makes up such a comely show.
I sought not from thee a return,
But without hopes or fears did burn;
My covetous passion did approve
The hoarding-up, not use, of love.
My love a kind of dream was grown,
A foolish, but a pleasant one:
From which I'm waken'd now; but, oh!
Prisoners to die are waken'd so;
For now th' effects of loving are
Nothing but longings, with despair:
Despair, whose torments no men, sure,
But lovers and the damn'd, endure.
Her scorn I doated once upon,
Ill object for affection;

But since, alas! too much 'tis prov'd,
That yet 'twas something that I lov'd;
Now my desires are worse, and fly
At an impossibility:
Desires which, whilst so high they soar,
Are proud as that I lov'd b.fe,

What lover can like me complain,

Who first lov'd vainly, next in vain!


If 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 J 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 tyrammy!

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

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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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

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

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.


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 feasts
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?"

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And all beyond is vast eternity!


THOU robb'st my days of business and delights,
Of sleep thou robb'st my nights;
Ah, lovely thief! what wilt thou do?
What? rob me of Heaven too?

Thou ev'n my prayers dost steal from


And I, with wild idolatry,
Begin to God, and end them all to thee.
Is it a sin to love, that it should thus,
Like an ill conscience, torture us?
Whate'er I do, where'er I go,
(None guiltless e'er was haunted so!)
Still, still, methinks, thy face I view,

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.


'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.


Now, sure, within this twelvemonth past,
l'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.


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's 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.

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

ness too,

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

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?
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.


FOR 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 prové 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.


By Heaven, I'll tell her boldly that 'tis she;
Why should she asham'd or angry be,
To be belor'd by me?

The gods may give their altars o'er,
They'll smoak but seldom any more,
If none but happy men must them adore,
The lightning, which tall oaks oppose in vain,
To strike sometimes does not disdain

The humble furzes of the plain.
She being so high, and I so low,
Her power by this does greater show,
Who at such distance, gives so sure a blow.

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