I laugh'd the wanton play to view;

But 'tis, alas! at land so too,

And still old lovers yield the place to new.

Kiss her, and as you part, you amorous waves
(My happier rivals, and my fellow-slaves)
Point to your flowery banks, and to her show
The good your bounties do;

Then tell her what your pride doth cost,
And how your use and beauty's lost,
When rigorous winter binds you up with frost.

Tell her, her beauties and her youth, like thee,
Haste without stop to a devouring sea;
Where they will mix'd and undistinguish'd lie
With all the meanest things that die;
As in the ocean thou

No privilege dost know

Above the' impurest streams that thither flow.

Tell her, kind flood! when this has made her sad,
Tell her there's yet one remedy to be had ;
Show her how thou, though long since past, dost find
Thyself yet still behind:

Marriage (say to her) will bring

About the self-same thing.

But she, fond maid, shuts and seals-up the spring.

LOVE GIVEN OVER.

It is enough; enough of time and pain

Hast thou consumed in vain ;

Leave, wretched Cowley! leave

Thyself with shadows to deceive;

Think that already lost which thou must never gain.

Three of thy lustiest and thy freshest years (Toss'd in storms of hopes and fears) Like helpless ships that be

Set on fire i'the' midst o' the sea,

Have all been burn'd in love, and all been drown'd in tears.

Resolve then on it, and by force or art

Free thy unlucky heart;

Since Fate does disapprove

The' ambition of thy love,

And not one star in heaven offers to take thy part.

If e'er I clear my heart from this desire,
If e'er it home to its breast retire,
It ne'er shall wander more about,
Though thousand beauties call it out;

A lover burnt like me for ever dreads the fire.

The pox, the plague, and every small disease,
May come as oft as ill-fate please;

But death and love are never found

To give a second wound,

We're by those serpents bit, but we're devour'd by these.

Alas! what comfort is 't that I am grown

Secure of being again o'erthrown?

Since such an enemy needs not fear

Lest any else should quarter there,

Who has not only sack'd, but quite burnt down, the town.

THE FORCE OF LOVE.

PRESERVED FROM AN OLD MANUSCRIPT.

THROW an apple up a hill,
Down the apple tumbles still;

Roll it down, it never stops
Till within the vale it drops:
So are all things prone to Love,
All below, and all above.

Down the mountain flows the stream,
Up ascends the lambent flame;
Smoke and vapour mount the skies;
All preserve their unities :

Nought below, and nought above,
Seems averse, but prone to Love.

Stop the meteor in its flight,
Or the orient rays of light;
Bid Dan Phoebus not to shine,
Bid the planets not incline :
"Tis as vain, below, above,
To impede the course of Love.

Salamanders live in fire,
Eagles to the skies aspire,
Diamonds in their quarries lie,
Rivers do the sea supply:
Thus appears, below, above,
A propensity to Love.

Metals grow within the mine,
Luscious grapes upon the vine;

Still the needle marks the pole ;
Parts are equal to the whole :
"Tis a truth as clear, that Love
Quickens all, below, above.

Man is born to live and die,
Snakes to creep, and birds to fly;
Fishes in the water swim,

Doves are mild, and lions grim:
Nature thus, below, above,
Pushes all things on to Love.

Does the cedar love the mountain?
Or the thirsty deer the fountain?
Does the shepherd love his crook?
Or the willow court the brook?
Thus by Nature all things move,
Like a running stream, to Love.

Is the valiant hero bold?
Does the miser dote on gold?
Seek the birds in spring to pair?
Breathes the rose-bud scented air?
Should you this deny, you'll prove
Nature is averse to Love.

As the wencher loves a lass,
As the toper loves his glass,
As the friar loves his cowl,
Or the miller loves the toll,
So do all, below, above,
Fly precipitate to Love.

When young maidens courtship shun,
When the moon outshines the sun,

When the tigers lambs beget,
When the snow is black as jet,
When the planets cease to move,
Then shall Nature cease to Love.

EPIGRAM

ON

THE POWER OF LOVE.

N. B. This is delivered down by tradition as a production of Cowley; and was spoken at the Westminster-school election, on the following subject:

"Nullis amor est medicabilis herbis." OVID.

SOL Daphne sees, and seeing her admires,
Which adds new flames to his celestial fires;
Had any remedy for Love been known,
The god of Physic, sure, had cured his own.