Obrazy na stronie

Thy airy devilship to remove
From this circle here of love.

Sure I shall rid myself of thee
By the night's obscurity,
And obscurer secrecy .
Unlike to every other sprite,
Thou attempt'st not men t affright,
Nor appear'st but in the light.


THOUGH all thy gestures and discourses be
Coin’d and stamp'd by modesty;
Though from thy tongue ne'er slipp'd away
One word which nuns at th' altar might not say;
Yet such a sweetness, such a grace,
In all thy speech appear,
That what to th’ eye a beauteous face,
That thy tongue is to th' ear:
So cunningly it wounds the heart,
It strikes such heat through every part,
That thou a tempter worse than Satan art.

Though in thy thoughts scarce any tracks have been
So much as of original sin,
Such charms thy beauty wears as might

Desires in dying confess'd saints excite:

Thou, with strange adultery,
Dost in each breast a brothel keep ;
Awake all men do lust for thee,
And some enjoy thee when they sleep.
Ne'er before did woman live,
Who to such multitudes did give
The root and cause of sin, but only Eve.

Though in thy breast so quick a pity be,
That a fly's death's a wound to thee;
Though savage and rock-hearted those
Appear, that weep not ev'n Romance's woes;
Yet ne'er before was tyrant known,
Whose rage was of so large extent;
The ills thou dost are whole thine own;
Thou'rt principal and instrument:
In all the deaths that come from you,
You do the treble office do
Of judge, of torturer, and of weapon too.

Thou lovely instrument of angry Fate,
Which God did for our faults create!
Thou pleasant, universal ill,
Which, sweet as health, yet like a plague dost kill!
Thou kind, well-natur'd tyranny!
Thou chaste committer of a rape 1
Thou voluntary destiny,
Which no man can, or would, escape
So gentle, and so glad to spare,
So wondrous good, and wondrous fair,
(We know) ev'n the destroying-angels are,



She, WHAT have we done what cruel passion
mov'd thee,
Thus to ruin her that lov'd thee *
Me thou 'st robb’d ; but what art thou
Thyself the richer now
Shame succeeds the short-liv'd pleasure;
So soon is spent, and gone, this thy ill-gotten
treasure l

He. We have done no harm; nor was it theft in me,
But noblest charity in thee.
I'll the well-gotten pleasure
Safe in my memory treasure:
What though the flower itself do waste,
The essence from it drawn does long and sweeter
She. No : I’m undone; my honour thou hast slain,
And nothing can restore’t again.
Art and labour to bestow,
Upon the carcase of it now,
Is but to embalm a body dead;
The figure may remain, the life and beauty's fled.

He. Never, my dear, was honour yet undone
By Love, but Indiscretion.

To th' wise it all things does allow;
And cares not What we do, but How.
Like tapers shut in ancient urns,
Unless it let-in air, for ever shines and burns.

She, Thou first, perhaps, who didst the fault commit,
Wilt make thy wicked boast of it;
For men, with Roman pride, above
The conquest do the triumph love;
Nor think a perfect victory gain'd,
Unless they through the streets their captive lead

He, Whoe'er his secret joys has open laid,
The bawd to his own wife is made ;
Beside, what boast is left for me,
Whose whole wealth’s a gift from thee
"T is you the conqueror are, ’t is you
Who have not only ta'en, but bound and gagg'd
me too.

She, Though publick punishment we escape, the sin
Will rack and torture us within :
Guilt and sin our bosom bears;
And, though fair yet the fruit appears,
That worm which now the core does waste,
When long’t has gnaw’d within, will break the
skin at last.

He, That thirsty drink, that hungry food, I sought, That wounded balm is all my fault;

And thou in pity didst apply,
The kind and only remedy:
The cause absolves the crime; since me
So mighty force did move, so mighty goodness

She. Curse on thine arts! methinks I hate thee now;
And yet I’m sure I love thee too!
I'm angry; but my wrath will prove
More innocent than did thy love.
Thou hast this day undone me quite;
Yet wilt undo me more shouldst thou not come
at night.


AS soon hereafter will I wagers lay
'Gainst what an oracle shall say;
Fool that I was, to venture to deny
A tongue so us’d to victory !
A tongue so blest by nature and by art,
That never yet it spoke but gain’d an heart:
Though what you said had not been true,
If spoke by any else but you;
Your speech will govern destiny,
And Fate will change rather than you should lye.

'T is true, if human Reason were the guide,
Reason, methinks, was on my side;

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