You see what bangs it has endur'd,
That would, before new feats, be cur'd:'
But if that's all you ftand upon,
Here ftrike me, Luck, it fhall be done.

Quoth fhe, The matter 's not fo far gone
As you suppose; two words t' a bargain;
That may be done, and time enough,
When you have given downright proof;
And yet 'tis no fantastick pique

I have to love, nor coy diflike;
'Tis no implicit, nice averfion

T' your converfation, mien, or perfon;
But a just fear, lest you fhould prove

Falfe and perfidious in love:

For, if I thought you could be true,
I could love twice as much as you.

Quoth he, My faith as adamantin
As chains of Destiny, I'll maintain :
True as Apollo ever spoke,

Or oracle from heart of oak;

And if you 'll give my flame but vent,
Now in clofe hugger-mugger pent,

540

545

350

555

And shine upon me but benignly,
With that one and that other pigfney,

560

The fun and day shall fooner part,
Than love or you shake off my heart;
The fun, that shall no more dispence
His own, but your bright influence.

I'll carve your name on barks of trees,
With true-loves-knots and flourishes

565

That

That shall infufe eternal spring,

And everlasting flourishing;

Drink every letter on 't in ftum,

And make it brisk champaign become.
Where'er you tread, your foot shall fet

570

The primrose and the violet;

All fpices, perfumes, and fweet powders,

Shall borrow from your breath their odours;
Nature her charter fhall renew,

575

And take all lives of things from you;

The world depend upon your eye,

And when you frown upon it, die:
Only our loves fhall ftill furvive,
New worlds and natures to outlive,
And like to heralds' moons remain,

580

Is but a desk to write upon;

Sir Knight, you take your aim amifs;
For will find it a hard chapter,

you

To catch me with poetick rapture,

In which your Mastery of Art

Doth fhew itself, and not your heart:

Nor will you raife in mine combustion,

By dint of high heroic fuftian.
She that with poetry is won,

All crefcents, without change or wane.
Hold, hold, quoth fhe, no more of this,

585

5.90

And what men fay of her, they mean,
No more than on the thing they lean.

Some with Arabian spices strive

T' embalm her cruelly alive;

.595

Or feafon her, as French cooks use

Their haut-goufts, boullies, or ragoufts:
Ufe her fo barbarously ill,

To grind her lips upon a mill,
Until the facet doublet doth

Fit their rhymes rather than her mouth :
Her mouth, compar'd t' an oyster's, with
A row of pearl in 't, 'stead of teeth.
Others make pofies of her cheeks,
Where red and whiteft colours mix;
In which the lily and the rofe,
For Indian lake and ceruse goes.

The fun and moon, by her bright eyes,
Eclips'd, and darken'd in the skies,
Are but black patches, that she wears,
Cut into funs, and moons, and stars;
By which aftrologers, as well

As thofe in heaven above, can tell

What strange events they do foreshow
Unto her under-world below.
Her voice, the music of the spheres,
So loud, it deafens mortals' ears,
As wife philofophers have thought,
And that's the cause we hear it not.

615

620

This has been done by fome, who those

They' ador'd in rhyme would kick in profe;

And

Ver. 613. And the three following lines, not in the two first editions of 1664, but added 1674.

And in those ribbons would have hung,
Of which melodiously they sung,

That have the hard fate to write best
Of thofe ftill that deserve it leaft;

625

It matters not how falfe or forc'd,

So the best things be faid o' th' worst ;
It goes for nothing when 'tis faid,
Only the arrow's drawn to th' head,
Whether it be a swan or goofe
They level at fo fhepherds ufe
To fet the fame mark on the hip

630

Both of their found and rotten fheep:

For wits that carry low or wide,

635

Must be aim'd higher, or befide

The mark, which elfe they ne'er come nigh,

But when they take their aim awry.

But I do wonder you should chufe

This way t' attack me with your Muse,

640

As one cut out to pafs your tricks on,
With Fulhams of poetick fiction:
I rather hop'd I should no more
Hear from you o' th' gallanting score;
For hard dry-baftings us'd to prove
The readieft remedies of love,
Next a dry-diet; but if thofe fail,
Yet this uneafy loop-hold jail,

In which ye 're hamper'd by the fetlock,
Cannot but put y' in mind of wedlock;
Wedlock, that's worfe than any hole here,
If that may ferve you for a cooler

Ver. 642.] A cant word for falfe dice.

645

650

T'allay

665

In that already, with your command ;
For where does beauty and high wit,

But in your conftellation, meet?

Quoth she, What does a match imply,
But likness and equality ?

I know you cannot think me fit
To be th' yoke-fellow of your wit;
Nor take one of fo mean deferts,
To be the partner of your parts;
A grace which, if I could believe,
I've not the confcience to receive.

That confcience, quoth Hudibras,
Is mifinform'd; I'll ftate the cafe.
A man may be a legal donor
Of fany thing whereof he 's owner,
And may confer it where he lifts,
I' th' judgment of all cafuifts:

670

675

680

N 2

Then