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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, 'tis 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 1 till then ; for thou must be
Laid down by her, ere taken up by me.

Then all the fields and woods shall with it ring;
Then Echo's burthen it shall be;
Then all the birds in several notes shall sing,
And all the rivers murmur, thee;
Then every wind the sound shall upwards bear,
And softly whisper’t to some angel's ear,

Then shall thy name through all my verse be spread,
Thick as the flowers in meadows lie,
And, when in future times they shall be read
(As sure, I think, they will not die)
If any critick doubt that they be mine,
Men by that stamp shall quickly know the coin.

Meanwhile I will not dare to make a name
To represent thee by ;
Adam (God's nomenclator) could not frame
One that enough should signify:
Astrea or Celia as unfit would prove
For thee, as 'tis to call the Deity Jove.

WEEPING.

SEE where she sits, and in what comely wise
Drops tears more fair than others' eyes

Ah, charming maid let not ill-fortune see
Th' attire thy sorrow wears,
Nor know the beauty of thy tears;

For she'll still come to dress herself in thee.

As stars reflect on waters, so I spy
In every drop, methinks, her eye.

The baby, which lives there, and always plays
In that illustrious sphere,
Like a Narcissus does appear,

Whilst in his flood the lovely boy did gaze.

Ne'er yet did I behold so glorious weather,
As this sun-shine and rain together.

Pray Heaven her forehead, that pure hill of snow
(For some such fountain we must find,
To waters of so fair a kind)

Melt not, to feed that beauteous stream below !

Ah, mighty Lovel that it were inward heat
Which made this precious limbeck sweet !'

But what, alas! ah, what does it avail,
That she weeps tears so wondrous cold.
As scarce the ass's hoof can hold,

So cold, that I admire they fall not hail.

DISCRETION.

DISCREET what means this word discreet
A curse on all discretion 1.

This barbarous term you will not meet
In all Love's lexicon.

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