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o, THE HEART FLED AGAIN.

FALSE, foolish heart! didst thou not say
That thou wouldst never leave me more ?

Behold ! again't is fled away,
Fled as far from me as before.
I strove to bring it back again;

I cry'd and holla’d after it in vain.

Ev’n so the gentle Tyrian dame,
When neither grief nor love prevail,

Saw the dear object of her flame,
Th' ingrateful Trojan, hoist his sail:
Aloud she call'd to him to stay;

The wind bore him and her lost words away.

The doleful Ariadne so
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 froz’n in every breast !
And to be scorch'd in every eyes
Wandering about like wretched Cain,

Thrust-out, ill-us'd, by all, but by none slain!

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Well, since thou wilt not here remain,
I'll e'en to live without thee try;

My head shall take the greater pain,
And all thy duties shall supply:
I can more easily live, I knew,

Without thee, than without a mistress thou.

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OR I'm a very dunce, or woman-kind

Is a most unintelligible thing:

I can no sense nor no contexture find,
Nor their loose parts to method bring:
I know not what the learn'd may see,
But they're strange Hebrew things to me.

By customs and traditions they live,

And foolish ceremonies of antique date;

We lovers new and better doctrines give,
Yet they continue obstinate:
Preach we, Love's prophets, what we will, *
Like Jews, they keep their old law still.

Before their mothers' Gods they fondly fall,

Wain idol-gods, that have no sense nor mind:

Honour's their Ashtaroth, and pride their Baal,
The thundering Baal of woman-kind:
With twenty other devils more,
Which they, as we do them, adore.

But then, like men both covetous and devout,

Their costly superstition loth t' omit—

And yet more loth to issue monies out,
At their own charge to furnish it—
To these expensive Deities
The hearts of men they sacrifice.

THE SOUL.

SOME dull philosopher—when he hears me say
My soul is from me fled away,

Nor has of late inform'd my body here,
But in another's breast does lie,
That neither is, nor will be, I,

As a form servient and assisting there—

Will cry, “Absurd 1" and ask me how I live;
And syllogisms against it give.

A curse on all your vain philosophies,
Which on weak Nature's law depend,
And know not how to comprehend

Love and Religion, those great mysteries'

Her body is my soul; laugh not at this,
For by my life I swear it is,

'T is that preserves my being and my breath;
From that proceeds all that I do,
Nay, all my thoughts and speeches too;

And separation from it is my death.

ECHO,

TIRD with the rough denials of my prayer,
From that hard she whom I obey,
I come, and find a nymph much gentler here,
That gives consent to all I say.
Ah, gentle nymph 1 who lik'st so well
In hollow, solitary caves to dwell;
Her heart being such, into it go,
And do but once from thence answer me so I

Complaisant nymph who dost thus kindly share
In griefs whose cause thou dost not know ;
Hadst thou but eyes, as well as tongue and ear,
How much compassion wouldst thou show !
Thy flame, whilst living, or a flower, -
Was of less beauty, and less ravishing power.
Alas! I might as easily
Paint thee to her, as describe her to thee.

By repercussion beams engender fire;
Shapes by reflection shapes beget;
The voice itself, when stopt, does back retire,
And a new voice is made by it.
. Thus things by opposition
The gainers grow; my barren love alone
Does from her stony breast rebound,
Producing neither image, fire, nor sound.

THE RICH RIVAL,

THEY say you’re angry, and rant mightily,
Because I love the same as you:
Alas! you’re very rich, "t is true;

But, pr’ythee, fool! what's that to Love and me?
You’ave land and money, let that serve;

And know you’ave more by that than you deserve.

When next I see my fair-one, she shall know
How worthless thou art of her bed;
And, wretch I’ll strike thee dumb and dead,

With noble verse not understood by you;
Whilst thy sole rhetorick shall be

“Jointure” and “jewels,” and “our friends agree.”

Pox o' your friends, that dote and domineer :
Lovers are better friends than they :
Let’s those in other things obey;

The Fates, and Stars, and Gods, must govern here.
Vain names of blood l in love let none

Advise with any blood, but with their own.

*T is that which bids me this bright maid adore;
No other thought has had access!
Did she now beg, I’d love no less,

And, were she an empress, I should love no more:
Were she as just and true to me,

Ah, simple soul! what would become of thee

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