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For, if the chiefest Christian Head Was by this sturdy tyrant buffeted, What wonder is it if weak I be slain *

COLDNESS.

AS water fluid is, till it do grow
Solid and fixt by cold ;

So in warm seasons Love does loosely flow;

Frost only can it hold:
A woman's rigour, and disdain,
Does his swift course restrain.

- z

Though constant and consistent now it be,

Yet, when kind beams appear,
It melts, and glides apace into the sea,

And loses itself there.
So the sun's amorous play
Kisses the ice away.

You may in vulgar loves find always this;
But my substantial love
Of a more firm and perfect nature is;
No weathers can it move:
Though heat dissolve the ice again,
The crystal solid does remain.

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ENJOYMENT.

THEN like some wealthy island thou shalt lie,
And like the sea about it, I ;
Thou, like fair Albion to the sailors' sight,
Spreading her beauteous bosom all in white;
Like the kind Ocean I will be,
With loving arms for ever clasping thee.

But I'll embrace thee gentlier far than so;
As their fresh banks soft rivers do;
Nor shall the proudest planet boast a power
Of making my full love to ebb one hour;
It never dry or low can prove,
Whilst thy unwasted fountain feeds my love.

Such heat and vigour shall our kisses bear,
As if like doves we'engender'd there:
No bound nor rule my pleasures shall endure,
In love there 's none too much an Epicure:
Nought shall my hands or lips control;
I'll kiss thee through, I'll kiss thy very soul.

Yet nothing but the night our sports shall know; Night, that's both blind and silent too !

Alphaeus found not a more secret trace,

His lov'd Sicanian fountain to embrace,
Creeping so far beneath the sea,

Than I will do to enjoy and feast on thee.

Men, out of wisdom; women, out of pride,
The pleasant thefts of love do hide :
That may secure thee; but thou’ast yet from me
A more infallible security;
For there’s no danger I should tell
The joys which are to me unspeakable.

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IN vain, thou drowsy God! I thee invoke;
For thou, who dost from fumes arise—
Thou, who man's soul dost overshade
With a thick cloud by vapours made—
Canst have no power to shut his eyes,
Or passage of his spirits to choke,
Whose flame's so pure that it sends up no smoke.

Yet how do tears but from some vapours rise 2
Tears, that bewinter all my year?
The fate of Egypt I sustain,
And never feel the dew of rain,
From clouds which in the head appear;
But all my too much moisture owe
To overflowings of the heart below.

Thou, who dost men (as nights to colours do)
Bring all to an equality!

Come, thou just God! and equal me
Awhile to my disdainful She .
In that condition let me lie,
Till Love does the favour shew:
Love equals all a better way than you.

Then never more shalt thou b'invok'd by me;
Watchful as spirits and Gods I’ll prove:
Let her but grant, and then will I
Thee and thy kinsman Death defy;
For, betwixt thee and them that love,
Never will an agreement be;
Thou scorn'st th' unhappy, and the happy, thee!

BEAUTY.

BEAUTY! thou wild fantastick ape, Who dost in every country change thy shapel Here black, there brown, here tawny, and there

white;

Thou flatterer! which comply'st with every sight!

Thou Babel, which confound'st the eye With unintelligible variety I

Who hast no certain What, nor Where; But vary'st still, and dost thyself declare Inconstant, as thy she-professors are.

Beauty! Love's scene and masquerade, So gay by well-plac'd lights and distance made 1

False coin, with which th' impostor cheats us still;
The stamp and colour good, but metal ill !
Which light or base we find, when we
Weigh by enjoyment, and examine thee!
For, though thy being be but show,
'T is chiefly night which men to thee allow:
And choose to enjoy thee, when thou least art Thou.

Beauty thou active, passive ill!
Which dy'st thyself as fast as thou dost kill !
Thou tulip, who thy stock in paint dost waste,
Neither for physick good, nor smell, nor taste.

Beauty whose flames but meteors are,
Short-liv'd and low, though thou wouldst seem a
Star;

Who dar'st not thine own home descry,
Pretending to dwell richly in the eye,
When thou, alas ! dost in the fancy lie.

. Beauty whose conquests still are made

O'er hearts by cowards kept, or else betray'd;
Weak victor who thyself destroy’d must be
When Sickness storms, or Time besieges thee!

Thou 'unwholesome thaw to frozen age 1
Thou strong wine, which youth's fever dost enrage!

Thou tyrant, which leav'st no man free
thou subtle thief, from whom nought safe can bel
thou murderer, which hast kill'd, and devil, which

wouldst damn me!

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