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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 crowds to hers 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 defaced, it lies,
That it could ne'er be known by the' eyes ;
But, oh! at last I heard it

groan,
And knew by the voice that 'twas mine own.
So poor Alcione, when she saw,
A shipwreck'd body towards 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.
But, shall our love do what in beasts we see?
Even 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.
The Thunderer, who, without the female bed,
Could Goddesses bring forth from out his head,
Chose rather mortals this way to create;
So much he’ 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' the’ frigid zone.
The Sun does his pure fires on earth bestow
With nuptial warmth, to bring forth things below;
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 NOBODY,

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 warm.
Fool that I was ! who, having found
A rich and sunny diamond,
Admired 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;
Shouldst thou have yielded then to me,
Thou'dst lost what I most loved in thee;
For who would serve one, whom he sees
That he could conquer if he please?
It fared 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 the 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 doted once upon,
Ill object for affection;
But since, alas ! too much 'tis proved,
That yet 'twas something that I loved;
Now

my desires are worse, and fly At an impossibility: Desires which, whilst so high they soar, Are proud as that I loved before. What lover can like me complain, Who first loved vainly, next in vain !

THE SOUL.

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; 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 Auglit perfume, but thy breath, to call;

If

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' epitomised,
That nought material's not comprised ;
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 an 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 tiest them so,
That constant they as habits grow

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