? Yet this lost wager costs me nothing more She gave That no man's Muse for public vent is free, BATHING IN THE RIVER. THE fish around her crowded, as they do For ne'er did light so clear Though every night the sun himself set there. Why to mute fish shouldst thou thyself discover Maids bury; and, for aught we know, (Poor ignorants!) they're mermaids all below. The amorous waves would fain about her stay, But still new amorous waves drive them away, And with swift current to those joys they haste That do as swiftly waste; 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 Then tell her what your pride doth cost, Tell her, her beauties and her youth, like thee, No privilege dost know Above the' impurest streams that thither flow. Tell her, kind flood! when this has made her sad, 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 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, A lover burnt like me for ever dreads the fire. The pox, the plague, and every small disease, 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: 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, Salamanders live in fire, Metals grow within the mine, the vine; Still the needle marks the pole ; Man is born to live and die, Doves are mild, and lions grim: Does the cedar love the mountain? Is the valiant hero bold? As the wencher loves a lass, When young maidens courtship shun, |