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But as, when the Pellaan conqueror dy'd,
Many small princes did his crown divide;
So, since my love his vanquish'd world forsook,
Murder'd by poisons from her falsehood took,
An hundred petty kings claim each their part,
And rend that glorious empire of her heart.

MY HEART DISCOVERED. HER body is so gently bright, Clear and transparent to the sight, (Clear as fair crystal to the view, Yet soft as that, ere stone it grew) That through her flesh, methinks, is seen The brighter soul that dwells within: Our eyes the subtile covering pass, And see that lily through its glass. I through her breast her heart espy, As souls in hearts do souls descry: I see 't with gentle motions beat; I see light in 't, but find no heat. Within, like angels in the sky, A thousand gilded thoughts do fly; Thoughts of bright and noblest kind, Fair and chaste as mother-mind. But oh! what other heart is there, Which sighs and crouds to her's so near? "Tis all on flame, and does, like fire, To that, as to its Heaven, aspire! The wounds are many in 't and deep; Still does it bleed, and still does weep! Whose-ever wretched heart it be, I cannot choose but grieve to see: What pity in my breast does reign! Methinks I feel too all its pain. So torn, and so defac'd, it lies,

That it could ne'er be known by th' eyes; But oh! at last I heard it groan,

And knew by th' voice that 'twas mine own.
So poor Alcione, when she saw
A shipwreck'd body tow'rds her draw,
Beat by the waves, let fall a tear,
Which only then did pity wear:

But, when the corpse on shore were cast,
Which she her husband found at last,
What should the wretched widow do?
Grief chang'd her straight; away she flew,
Turn'd to a bird: and so at last shall I
Both from my murder'd heart and murderer fly.


So angels love; so let them love for me;
When I'm all soul, such shall my love too be:
Who nothing here but like a spirit would do,
In a short time, believe 't, will be one too.
Eut, shall our love do what in beasts we see?
Ev'n beasts eat too, but not so well as we:
And you as justly might in thirst refuse
The use of wine, because beasts water use:
They taste those pleasures as they do their food;
Undress'd they take 't, devour it raw and crude:
Eut to us men, Love cooks it at his fire,
And adds the poignant sauce of sharp desire.
Eeasts do the same: 'tis true; but ancient Fame
Says, gods themselves turn'd beasts to do the


The Thunderer, who, without the female bed,
Could goddesses bring-forth from out his head,
Chose rather mortals this way to create;
So much h' esteem'd his pleasure 'bove his state.
Ye talk of fires which shine, but never burn;
In this cold world they 'll hardly serve our turn;
As useless to despairing lovers grown,

As lambent flames to men i' th' frigid zone.
The Sun does his pure fires on Earth bestow
With nuptial warmth, to bring-forth things be-

Such is Love's noblest and divinest heat,
That warms like his, and does, like his, beget.
Lust you call this; a name to yours more just,
If an inordinate desire be lust:

Pygmalion, loving what none can enjoy, More lustful was, than the hot youth of Troy.



WHAT new-found witchcraft was in thee,

With thine own cold to kindle me?
Strange art! like him that should devise
To make a burning-glass of ice:
When Winter so, the plants would harm,
Her snow itself does keep them warm.
Fool that I was! who, having found
A rich and sunny diamond,
Admir'd the hardness of the stone,
But not the light with which it shone.
Your brave and haughty scorn of all
Was stately and monarchical;
All gentleness, with that esteem'd,
A dull and slavish virtue seem'd;
Should'st thou have yielded then to me,
Thou 'dst lost what I most lov'd in thee;
For who would serve one, whom he sees
That he can conquer if he please?
It far'd with me, as if a slave
In triumph led, that does perceive
With what a gay majestic pride

His conqueror through the streets does ride,
Should be contented with his woe,
Which makes up such a comely show.
I sought not from thee a return,
But without hopes or fears did burn;
My covetous passion did approve
The hoarding-up, not use, of love.
My love a kind of dream was grown,
A foolish, but a pleasant one:
From which I'm waken'd now; but, oh!
Prisoners to die are waken'd so;
For now th' effects of loving are
Nothing but longings, with despair:
Despair, whose torments no men, sure,
But lovers and the damn'd, endure.
Her scorn I doated once upon,
Ill object for affection;

But since, alas! too much 'tis prov'd,
That yet 'twas something that I lov'd;
Now my desires are worse, and fly
At an impossibility:
Desires which, whilst so high they soar,
Are proud as that I lov'd b.fe,

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If I ever anger know,

Till some wrong be done to you;
If gods or kings my envy move,
Without their crowns crown'd by thy love;
If ever I a hope admit,
Without thy image stamp'd on it;

Or any fear, till I begin

To find that you 're concern'd therein;
If a joy e'er come to me,

That tastes of any thing but thee;
If any sorrow touch my mind,
Whilst you are well, and not unkind;
If I a minute's space debate,
Whether I shall curse and hate
The things beneath thy hatred fall,
Though all the world, myself and all;
And for love, if ever I

Approach to it again so nigh,
As to allow a toleration

To the least glimmering inclination; If thou alone dost not control

All those tyrants of my soul,

And to thy beauties ty'st them so,
That constant they as habits grow;
If any passion of my heart,

By any force, or any art,

Be brought to move one step from thee, May'st thou no passion have for me!

If my busy Imagination,
Do not thee in all things fashion;
So that all fair species be
Hieroglyphic marks of thee;
If when she her sports does keep
(The lower soul being all asleep)
She play one dream, with all her art,
Where thou hast not the longest part;
If aught get place in my remembrance,
Without some badge of thy resemblance,
So that thy parts become to me
A kind of art of memory;

If my Understanding do
Seek any knowledge but of you;
If she do near thy body prize
Her bodies of philosophies;
If she to the will do shew
Aught desirable but you ;
Or, if that would not rebel,
Should she another doctrine tell;
If my Will do not resign
All her liberty to thine;

If she would not follow thee,

Though Fate and thou should'st disagree;
And if (for I a curse will give,
Such as shall force thee to believe)
My Soul be not entirely thine;
May thy dear body ne'er be mine


FROM Hate, Fear, Hope, Anger, and Envy, free,
And all the passions else that be,
In vain I boast of liberty,

In vain this state a freedom call;
Since I have Love, and Love is all:
Sot that I am, who think it fit to brag
That I have no disease besides the plague !
So in a zeal the sons of Israel

Sometimes upon their idols fell,

And they depos'd the powers of Hell;
Baal and Astarte down they threw,
And Acharon and Moloch too:

All this imperfect piety did no good, Whilst yet, alas! the calf of Bethel stood.

Fondly I boast, that I have drest my vine
With painful art, and that the wine
Is of a taste rich and divine;

Since Love, by mixing poison there,
Has made it worse than vinegar.
Love ev'n the taste of nectar changes so,
That gods chuse rather water here below.
Fear, Anger, Hope, all passions else that be,
Drive this one tyrant out of me,
And practise all your tyranny!

The change of ills some good will do:
Th' oppressed wretched Indians so,
Being slaves by the great Spanish monarch


Call in the States of Holland to their aid.

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Then down I laid my head,

Down on cold earth; and for a while was dead,
And my freed soul to a strange somewhere fled.


WELL then; I now do plainly see
This busy world and I shall ne'er agree;
The very honey of all earthly joy

Does of all meats the soonest cloy;
And they, methinks, deserve my pity,
Who for it can endure the stings,
The crowd, and buz, and murmurings,

Of this great hive, the city.

And, since love ne'er will from me flee,
A mistress moderately fair,
And good as guardian-angels are,
Only belov'd, and loving me!

Ah, yet, ere I descend to th' grave,
May I a small house and large garden have!
And a few friends, and many books, both true,
Both wise, and both delightful too!

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"Ah, sottish soul !" said I,

When back to its cage again I saw it fly;
"Fool, to resume her broken chain,
And row her galley here again!
Fool, to that body to return

Where it condemn'd and destin'd is to burn!

Once dead, how can it be,

Death should a thing so pleasant seem to thee,

That thou should'st come to live it o'er again If you an inclination have for me;

in me?"

And all beyond is vast eternity!


Now, by my Love, the greatest oath that is
None loves you half so well as I:

I do not ask your love for this;
But for Heaven's sake believe me, or I die.
No servant e'er but did deserve

His master should believe that he does serve;
And I'll ask no more wages, though I starve.
'Tis no luxurious diet this, and sure

I shall not by 't too lusty prove;
Yet shall it willingly endure,
If't can but keep together life and love.

Being your prisoner and your slave,

I do not feasts and banquets look to have;
A little bread and water's all I crave.
On a sigh of pity I a year can live;

One tear will keep me twenty, at least ;
Fifty, a gentle look will give;

An hundred years on one kind word I'll feaste
A thousand more will added be,

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Th' old Patriarchs' age, and not their happi- | The needle trembles so, and turns about,

ness too,

Till it the northern point find out;

But constant then and fix'd does prove,
Fix'd, that his dearest pole as soon may move.
Then may my vessel torn and shipwreck'd be,
If it put forth again to sea!

It never more abroad shall roam,

Why does hard Fate to us restore ? Why does Love's fire thus to mankind renew, What the flood wash'd away before?

Sure those are happy people that complain

O' th' shortness of the days of man :

Contract mine, Heaven! and bring them back Though 't could next voyage bring the Indies



To th' ordinary span.

If when your gift, long life, I disapprove,
I too ingrateful seem to be;

Punish me justly, Heaven; make her to love,
And then 'twill be too short for me.


GENTLY, ah, gently, madam, touch

The wound which you yourself have made;
That pain must needs be very much,

Which makes me of your hand afraid.
Cordials of pity give me now,
For I too weak for purgings grow,

Do but awhile with patience stay

(For counsel yet will do no good)
Till time, and rest, and Heaven, allay
The violent burnings of my blood;
For what effect from this can flow,
To chide men drunk, for being so?
Ferhaps the physic's good you give,

But ne'er to me can useful prove;
Med'cines may cure, but not revive;

And I'm not sick, but dead in love,
In Love's Hell, not his world, am I ;
At once I live, am dead, and die.
What new-found rhetoric is thine!

Ev'n thy dissuasions me persuade,
And thy great power does clearest shine,

When thy commands are disobey'd.
In vain thou bid'st me to forbear;
Obedience were rebellion here.
Thy tongue comes in, as if it meant

Against thine eyes t' assist mine heart:
But different far was his intent,

For straight the traitor took their part:
And by this new foe I'm bereft
Of all that little which was left.

The act, I must confess, was wise,
As a dishonest act could be:
Well knew the tongue, alas! your eyes

Would be too strong for that and me;
And part o' th' triumph chose to get,
Rather than be a part of it.

'Tis true, l'ave lov'd already three or four,
And shall three or four hundred more;
I'll love each fair-one that I see,
Till I find one at last that shall love me.
That shall my Canaan be, the fatal soil

That ends my wanderings and my toil :
I'll settle there, and happy grow;
'The country does with milk and honey flow.

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