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.

ALL-OVER LOVE.

'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.

LOVE AND LIFE.

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 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 :
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 bis 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.

THE BARGAIN.

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'st 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,

THE LONG LIFE.

LOVE from Time's wings hath stol'n the feathers,

sure

He has, and put them to his own;
For hours, of late, as long as days endure,
And very minutes hours are grown.

The various motions of the turning year
Belong not now at all to me :
Each summer's night does Lucy's now appear,
Each winter's day St. Barnaby.

How long a space since first I lov'd it is!
To look into a glass I fear;
And am surpriz'd with wonder when I miss
Gray hairs and wrinkles there.

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;
Medicines 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:
Wel! 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.

THE SAME.

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 prove
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.

THE DISCOVERY.

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

The gods may give their altars o'er,
They'll smoak but seldom any inore,
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.

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, T'an 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.

Bo tender is my wound, it inust not bear
Any salate, 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.

THE GIVEN HEART.

I 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, take. 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 Adan.'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 flood 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.

WOMEN'S SUPERSTITION,
OR I'm a very dunce, or woman-kind
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:

THE RICH RIVAL.

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.

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 "

agree."

our friends

Pox o' 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