« הקודםהמשך »
A thing God thought for mankind so unfit,
That his first blessing ruin'd it.
Cold, frozen nurse of fiercest fires ! Who, like the parched plains of Afric's sand (A sterile, and a wild unlovely land!)
Art always scorch'd with hot desires,
Yet barren quite, didst thou not bring Monsters and serpents forth thyself to sting ! Thou that bewitchest men whilst thou dost dwell
Like a close conjurer in his cell,
And fear’st the day's discovering eye! No wonder 'tis at all that thou shouldst be Such tedious and unpleasant company,
Who livest so melancholily!
Thou thing of subtile, slippery kind,
Yet I'm resolved to search for thee;
The search itself rewards the pains : So, though the chemic his great secret miss (For neither it in Art nor Nature is)
Yet things well worth his toil he gains ;
And does his charge and labour pay
Thee, than a porter is his door.
In vain to honour they pretend, [walls; Who guard themselves with ramparts and with Them only Fame the truly valiant calls,
Who can an open breach defend.
Of thy quick loss can be no doubt, Within so hated, and so loved without.
IMPOSSIBILITIES! oh no,
there's none; Could mine bring thy heart captive home; As easily other dangers were o'erthrown,
As Cæsar, after vanquish'd Rome, His little Asian foes did overcome. True lovers oft by Fortune are envied;
Oft earth and hell against them strive; But Providence engages on their side,
And a good end at last does give : At last, just men and lovers always thrive, As stars (not powerful else) when they conjoin,
Change, as they please, the world's estate; So thy heart in conjunction with mine
Shall our own fortunes regulate ; And to our stars themselves prescribe a fate. "Twould grieve me much to find some bold romance,
That should two kind examples show, Which before us in wonders did advance ;
Not that I thought that story true, But none should Fancy more, than I would Do. Through spite of our worst enemies, thy friends;
Through local banishment from thee; Through the loud thoughts of less-concerning ends,
my passage be,
In vain the stars their aid deny’d;
Shall the' Hellespont our loves divide ?
But, gentle maid! do not deny
And still the taper let me espy:
And his great secret open laid !
Only in her to pity me:
life more fit, Than 'tis for her to save and ransom it. Ah! never more shall thy unwilling ear
My helpless story hear;
Silence perhaps may make it sleep:
Though it should speechless lie.
love can his course, Unless it join and mix with thee : If
any end or stop of it be found, We know the flood runs still, though underground.
UNHURT, untouch'd, did I complain, And terrify'd all others with the pain :
But now I feel the mighty evil;
Ah! there's no fooling with the devil!
Themselves have met a real sprite.
But now I suffer an arrest,
For words were spoke by me in jest. Dull, sottish God of love! and can it be
Thou understand'st not raillery?
Darts, and wounds, and flame, and heat, I named but for the rhyme, or the conceit;
Nor meant my verse should raised be
To this sad fame of prophecy :
And all the metaphors does spoil.
In things where fancy much does reign, 'Tis dangerous too cunningly to feign;
The play at last a truth does grow,
And Custom into Nature go;
My lines of amorous desire
And 'twas a barbarous delight
My fancy promised from the sight:
My burning Bull the first do try.
I NEVER yet could see that face
Which had no dart for me;
They all victorious be.
call thee one;
Goodness, or wit, in all I find;
If all fail, yet 'tis woman-kind;
If fair, she's pleasant as the light;
If black, what lover loves not night? If yellow-hair'd, I love, lest it should be The' excuse to others for not loving me. The fat, like plenty, fills my heart;
The lean, with love, makes me too so:
To me; if crooked, 'tis his bow:
My richly-landed Love's become;
Though it take up a larger room : Him, who loves always one, why should they call More constant than the man loves always all ?