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 hers the' 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 fix'd to abide,
Teach woman-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 Adam'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,

"Tis I who Love's Columbus am; 'tis I
Who must new worlds in it descry;
Rich worlds, that yield of 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 round to you that steadfast dwell; And you yourself, who from us take your flight, Wonder to find us out of sight.

So the same error 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 possess'd,

Or wild and uninhabited?

What joy couldst 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 chanced 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 wouldst 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 holloa'd after it in vain.
Even so the gentle Tyrian dame,
When neither grief nor love prevail,
Saw the dear object of her flame,
The' ingrateful Trojan, hoist his sail :
Aloud she call'd to him to stay;
The wind bore him and her lost words
The doleful Ariadne so

away,

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 frozen in every breast!

And to be scorch'd in every eye!

Wandering about like wretched Cain, Thrust-out, ill-used, by all, but by none slain!