A river, ere it meet the sea,
As well might stay its source,
As my love can his course,

Unless it join and mix with thee:
If any end or stop of it be found,

We know the flood runs still, though under ground.

THE DISSEMBLER.

UNHURT, untouch'd, did I complain,
And terrify'd all others with the pain:
But now I feel the mighty evil;
Ah! there's no fooling with the devil!
So, wanton men, whilst others they would fright,
Themselves have met a real sprite.

I thought, I'll swear, an handsome lye Had been no sin at all in poetry;

But now I suffer an arrest,

For words were spoke by me in jest. Dull, sottish God of love! and can it be Thou understandst not raillery?

Darts, and wounds, and flame, and heat,
I nam'd but for the rhyme, or the conceit ;
Nor meant my verse should raised be
To this sad fame of prophesy:

Truth gives a dull propriety to my style,
And all the metaphors does spoil..

In things where fancy much does reign,
"T is dangerous too cunningly to feign;
The play at last a truth does grow,
And Custom into Nature go;
By this curst art of begging I became
Lame with counterfeiting lame.

My lines of amorous desire

I wrote to kindle and blow others' fire;
And 't was a barbarous delight
My fancy promis'd from the sight:
But now, my Love, the mighty Phalaris, I
My burning Bull the first do try.

THE INCONSTANT.

I NEVER yet could see that face
Which had no dart for me;
From fifteen years, to fifty's space,

They all victorious be.

Love, thou 'rt a devil, if I may call thee one; For sure in me thy name is Legion.

Colour, or shape, good limbs, or face,

Goodness, or wit, in all I find ;

In motion or in speech a grace;
If all fail, yet 't is woman-kind;

And I'm so weak, the pistol need not be
Double or treble charg'd to murder me.

If tall, the name of proper slays;
If fair, she's pleasant as the light;
If low, her prettiness does please;

If black, what lover loves not night?
If yellow-hair'd, I love, lest it should be
Th' excuse to others for not loving me.

The fat, like plenty, fills my heart;
The lean, with love makes me too so;
If straight, her body 's Cupid's dart
To me; if crooked, 't is his bow:

Nay, age itself does me to rage incline,
And strength to women gives, as well as wine.

Just half as large as Charity

My richly-landed Love 's become;

And, judg'd aright, is Constancy,

Though it take up a larger room:

Him, who loves always one, why should they call More constant than the man loves always all?

Thus with unwearied wings I flee

Through all love's gardens and his fields; And, like the wise, industrious bee

No weed but honey to me yields !

Honey still spent this diligence still supplies,
Though I return not home with laden thighs.

My soul at first indeed did prove
Of pretty strength against a dart,
Till I this habit got of love;

But my consum'd and wasted heart,
Once burnt to tinder with a strong desire,
Since that, by every spark is set on fire.

THE CONSTANT.

GREAT and wise conqueror, who, where'er Thou com'st, dost fortify, and settle there! Who canst defend as well as get,

And never hadst one quarter beat-up yet;
Now thou art in, thou ne'er wilt part
With one inch of my vanquish'd heart;
For, since thou took'st it by assault from me,
"Tis garrison'd so strong with thoughts of thee,
It fears no beauteous enemy.

Had thy charming strength been less,
I'ad serv'd ere this an hundred mistresses:
I'm better thus, nor would compound
To leave my prison to be a vagabond:
A prison in which I still would be,
Though every door stood ope to me.
In spite both of thy coldness and thy pride,
All love is marriage on thy lover's side,
For only death can them divide.

Close, narrow chain, yet soft and kind

As that which spirits above to good does bind, Gentle and sweet Necessity,

Which does not force, but guide, our liberty!

Your love on me were spent in vain,

Since my love still could but remain Just as it is; for what, alas! can be Added to that which hath infinity Both in extent and quality.

HER NAME.

WITH more than Jewish reverence as yet
Do I the sacred name conceal;
When, ye kind stars, ah when will it be fit
This gentle mystery to reveal ?

When will our love be nam'd, and we possess
That christening as a badge of happiness.

So bold as yet no verse of mine has been,
To wear that gem on any line;

Nor, till the happy nuptial Muse be seen,
Shall any stanza with it shine,

Rest, mighty name! till then; for thou must be
Laid down by her, ere taken up by me.