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How would those learned trees have follow'd | Oh, no; there's sense in this, and mystery

you!

You would have drawn them and their poet too.

But who can blame them now? for, since you're

gone,

They're here the only fair, and shine alone;
You did their natural rights invade;
Wherever you did walk or sit,

The thickest boughs could make no shade,
Although the Sun had granted it:

The fairest flowers could please no more, near

you,

Than painted flowers, set next to them, could do.

hene'er then you come hither, that shall be he time, which this to others is, to me. The little joys which here are now, The name of punishments do bear; When by their sight they let us know How we depriv'd of greater are: 'Tis you the best of seasons with you bring; This is for beasts, and that for men, the Spring.

WRITTEN IN

JUICE OF LEMON.

WHILST what I write I do not see,
I dare thus, ev'n to you, write poetry.
Ah, foolish Muse! which dost so high aspire,
And know'st her judgment well,

How much it does thy power excel,
Yet dar'st be read by, thy just doom, the fire.
Alas! thou think'st thyself secure,
Because thy form is innocent and pure:
Like hypocrites, which seem unspotted here;
But, when they sadly come to die,
And the last fire their truth must try,
Scrawl'd o'er like thee, and blotted, they appear.
Go then, but reverently go,

And, since thou needs must sin, confess it too:
Confess 't, and with humility clothe thy shame;
For thou, who else must burned be
An heretic, if she pardon thee,
May'st, like a martyr, then enjoy the flame.

But, if her wisdom grow severe,
And suffer not her goodness to be there;
If her large mercies cruelly it restrain;
Be not discourag'd, but require

A more gentle ordeal fire,

And bid her by Love's flames read it again.
Strange power of heat! thou yet dost show
Like winter-earth, naked, or cloath'd with snow:
But as, the quickening Sun approaching near,
The plants arise up by degrees;
A sudden paint adorns the trees,
And all kind Nature's characters appear:

So, nothing yet in thee is seen;

But, when a genial heat warms thee within,
A new-born wood of various lines there grows;
Here buds an A, and there a B,
Here sprouts a V, and there a T,
And all the flourishing letters stand in rows.

Still, silly Paper! thou wilt think,
That all this might as well be writ with ink:

Thou now may'st change thy author's name, And to her hand lay noble claim;

For, as she reads, she makes, the words in thee. Yet, if thine own unworthiness

Will still that thou art mine, not her's, confess, Consume thyself with fire before her eyes,

And so her grace or pity move:

The gods, though beasts they do not love, Yet like them when they 're burnt in sacrifice.

INCONSTANCY.

FIVE years ago (says story) I lov'd you,
For which you call me most inconstant now.
Pardon me, madam, you mistake the man,
For I am not the same that I was then;
No flesh is now the same 'twas then in me,
And that my mind is chang'd, yourself may see.
The same thoughts to retain still, and intents,
Were more inconstant far; for accidents
Must of all things most strangely inconstant
prove,

If from one subject they t' another move;
My members then the father members were,
From whence these take their birth which now
are here.

If then this body love what th' other did,
'Twere incest; which by Nature is forbid.
You might as well this day inconstant name,
Because the weather is not still the same
That it was yesterday or blame the year,
'Cause the spring flowers, and autumn fruit, does
bear.

The world's a scene of changes; and to be
Constant, in Nature were inconstancy;
For 'twere to break the laws herself has made:
Our substances themselves do fleet and fade;
The most fix'd being still does move and fly,
Swift as the wings of Time 'tis measur'd by.
T'imagine then that love should never cease
(Love, which is but the ornament of these)
Were quite as senseless, as to wonder why
Beauty and colour stays not when we die.

NOT FAIR.

'Tis very true, I thought you once as fair
As women in th' idea are;

Whatever here seems beauteous, seem'd to be
But a faint metaphor of thee:
But then, methoughts, there something shin'd
within,

Which cast this lustre o'er thy skin;
Nor could I chuse but count it the Sun's light,
Which made this cloud appear so bright.
But, since I knew thy falsehood and thy pride,
And all thy thousand faults beside,

A very Moor, methinks, plac'd near to thee,
White as his teeth would seem to be.
So men (they say) by Hell's delusions led,
Have ta'en a succubus to their bed;
Believe it fair, and themselves happy call,
Till the cleft foot discovers all :
Then they start from 't, half ghosts themselves
with fear;

And devil, as 'tis, it does appear.

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PLATONIC LOVE.

INDEED I must confess,

When souls mix 'tis an happiness; But not complete till bodies too combine, And closely as our minds together join: But half of Heaven the souls in glory taste, Till by love in Heaven, at last,

Their bodies too are plac'd.

In thy immortal part,

Man, as well as I, thou art;

But something 'tis that differs thee and me;
And we must one even in that difference be.
I thee, both as a man and woman, prize;
For a perfect love implies

Love in all capacities.

Can that for true love pass,

When a fair woman courts her glass? Something unlike must in Love's likeness be; His wonder is, one, and variety:

For he, whose soul nought but a soul can move, Does a new Narcissus prove,

And his own image love.

That souls do beauty know,

'Tis to the bodies' help they owe;

But, like the Persian tyrant, Love within

Keeps his proud court, and ne'er is seen, Oh! take my heart, and by that means you'll

prove

Within too stor'd enough of love: Give me but your's, I'll by that change so thrive,

That love in all my parts shall live. So powerful is this change, it render can My outside woman, and your inside man.

CLAD ALL IN WHITE.
FAIREST thing that shines below,
Why in this robe dost thou appear?
Would'st thou a white most perfect show,
Thou must at all no garment wear:
Thou wilt seem much whiter so,
Than Winter when 'tis clad with snow.

'Tis not the linen shows so fair;

Her skin shines through, and makes it bright:
So clouds themselves like suns appear,
When the Sun pierces them with light:
So, lilies in a glass enclose,

The glass will seem as white as those.
Thou now one heap of beauty art;
Nought outwards, or within, is foul:
Condensed beams make every part;
Thy body's cloathed like thy soul;
Thy soul, which does itself display,
Like a star plac'd i' th' milky-way.
Such robes the saints departed wear,
Woven all with light divine;
Such their exalted bodies are,
And with such full glory shine:
But they regard not mortals' pain;
Men pray, I fear, to both in vain.

If, when they know 't, they straight abuse that Yet, seeing thee so gently pure,

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My hopes will needs continue still;
Thou would'st not take this garment, sure,
When thou hadst an intent to kill!
Of peace and yielding who would doubt,
When the white flag he sees hung out?

LEAVING ME, AND THEN LOVING
MANY.

So men, who once have cast the truth away,
Forsook by God, do strange wild lusts obey;
So the vain Gentiles, when they left t' adore
One deity, could not stop at thousands more:
Their zeal was senseless straight, and boundless,

grown;

They worship'd many a beast and many a stone.
Ah, fair apostate! couldst thou think to flee
From truth and goodness, yet keep unity?
I reign'd alone; and my blest self could call
The universal monarch of her all.

Mine, mine, her fair East-Indies were above,
Where those suns rise that cheer the world of
Love;

Where beauties shine like gems of richest price; Where coral grows, and every breath is spice: Mine too her rich West-Indies were below, Where mines of gold and endless treasures grow.

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But as, when the Pellæan 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.

MY HEART DISCOVERED.
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

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-
low;

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.

THE VAIN LOVE.

LOVING ONE FIRST BECAUSE SHE COULD LOVE NO
BODY, AFTERWARDS LOVING HER WITH DESIRE. ~

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 warın.
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.

Both froin my murder'd heart and murderer fly. I sought not from thee a return,

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.
But, 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:
But to us men, Love cooks it at his fire,
And adds the poignant sauce of sharp desire.
Beasts do the same: 'tis true; but ancient Fame
Says, gods themselves turn'd beasts to do the

same.

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 before,

What lover can like me complain,

Who first lov'd vainly, next in vain!

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

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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 yon;
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

THE PASSIONS.

ROM 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 monarcha
made,

Call in the States of Holland to their aid.

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;

WISDOM.

'Trs 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, That thou should'st come to live it o'er again

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, 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 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 feast:
A thousand more will added be,

If you an inclination have for me;

And all beyond is vast eternity!

THE THIEF.

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

me;

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,

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