I'AVE often with'd to love; what fhall I do? And I a double task must bear, First to woo him, and then a Mistress too. If thou art any thing besides a name; But poets rather gods, who first created thee. II. I ask not one in whom all beauties grow; She cannot feem deform'd to me, And I would have her feem to others fo. It stays not dully to inquire the why. I shall not fee with others' eyes, fcarce with mine own. III. If the be coy, and fcorn my noble fire, And make a Mistress of my own defire. 20 The fpringing plants are by the snow itself kept warm. IV. But do not touch my heart, and so begone; Strike deep thy burning arrows in: Lukewarmness I account a fin As great in love as in religion. Come arm'd with flames, for I will prove 25 All the extremities of mighty Love. Th' excefs of heat is but a fable; 30 We know the Torrid Zone is now found habitable. V. Among the woods and forefts thou art found, There boars and lions thou doft tame; Is not my heart a nobler game? 35 Let Venus men, and beafts Diana wound. Thou doft the birds thy fubjects make; Thy nimble feathers do their wings o'ertake: Make me love too, I'll fing to thee all th' year. 40 Vi.. What fervice can mute fifhes do to thee? And still thy feaborn mother lives i' th' sea. Doft thou deny only to me The no-great priv❜lege of captivity? I beg or challenge here thy bow; Either thy pity' to me or else thine anger show. VII. Come, or I'll teach the world to scorn that bow: I'll teach them thousand wholesome arts, Both to refift and cure thy darts, More than thy skilful Ovid e'er did know. Nor drink one wretched lover's tafteful tear: Nay, unless foon thou woundest me, 45 50 My verses shall not only wound, but murder thee. 56 THE THRALDOM. I. I CAME, I faw, and was undone ; Lightning did thro' my bones and marrow run; 5 II. So a destroying angel's breath Blows in the plague, and with it hasty death. Such was the pain, did so begin To the poor wretch when Legion enter'd in. Flatter'd myself I was to die. III. But quickly to my coft I found ΤΟ 'Twas cruel Love, not Death, had made the wound: Death a more gen'rous rage does ufe; Quarter to all he conquers does refuse: IV. I am thy flave then; let me know, Hard Master! the great task I have to do: In tempefts and rough feas thy gallies row; 15 20 Their fighs increase the angry wind. V Like an Egyptian tyrant, some Thou wearieft out in building but a tomb : Others, with fad and tedious art, 25 Labour i' th' quarries of a ftony heart. Of all the works thou doft affign To all the feveral flaves of thine, Employ me, mighty Love! to dig the mine. 31 I'LL on; THE GIVEN LOVE. I. for what fhould hinder me From loving and enjoying thee? II. For that, Sirs! you must pardon me. Rather than lose what does fo near 3 ΤΟ 15 20 |