Doft thou deny only to me
The no-great privilege of captivity?
I beg or challenge here thy bow;
Either thy pity to me, or elfe thine anger, fhow.
Come! or I'll teach the world to fcorn that bow:
I'll teach them thousand wholesome arts
Both to refift and cure thy darts,
More than thy skilful Ovid e'er did know.
Mufick of fighs thou shalt not hear,
Nor drink one wretched lover's tafteful tear:
Nay, unless soon thou woundest me,
My verfes fhall not only wound, but murder, thee.
ICAME, I faw, and was undone;
Lightning did through my bones and marrow run; A pointed pain pierc'd deep my heart; A fwift cold trembling feiz'd on every part; My head turn'd round, nor could it bear The poifon that was enter'd there.
So a deftroying-angel's breath
Blows-in the plague, and with it hafty death:
Such was the pain, did so begin,
To the poor wretch, when Legion enter'd in
Forgive me, God!" I cry'd; "for I
"Flatter'd myself I was to die.".
But quickly to my coft I found,
'Twas cruel Love, not Death, had made the wound:
Death a more generous rage does use;
Quarter to all he conquers does refuse :
Whilft Love with barbarous mercy faves
The vanquish'd lives, to make them slaves.
I am thy flave then; let me know,
Hard mafter the great task I have to do:
Who pride and scorn do undergo,
In tempefts and rough feas thy galleys row;
They pant, and groan, and figh; but find
Their fighs increase the angry wind.
Like an Egyptian tyrant, some
Thou wearieft out in building but a tomb;
Others, with fad and tedious art,
Labour i' th' quarries of a ftony heart:
Of all the works thou doft affign,
To all the feveral flaves of thine,
Employ me, mighty Love! to dig the mine.
"LL on; for what fhould hinder me
From loving and enjoying thee?
Thou can not thofe exceptions make,
Which vulgar, fordid mortals take-
That my fate 's too mean and low;
"Twere pity I should love thee so,
If that dull caufe could hinder me
In loving and enjoying thee.
It does not me a whit displease,
That the rich all honours feize;
That you all titles make your own,
Are valiant, learned, wife, alone:
But, if you claim o'er women too
The power which over men ye do;
you alone must lovers be;
For that, Sirs, you must pardon me.
Rather than lofe what does fo near
Concern my life and being here,
I'll fome fuch crooked ways invent,
As you, or your forefathers, went:
I'll flatter or oppose the king,
Turn Puritan, or any thing;
I'll force my mind to arts fo new :
Grow rich, and love as well as you.
But rather thus let me remain,
As man in paradise did reign;
When perfect love did fo agree
With innocence and poverty.
Adam did no jointure give;
Himself was jointure to his Eve:
Untouch'd with avarice yet, or pride, .
The rib came freely back t' his fide.
A curfe upon the man who taught
Women, that love was to be bought;
Q2
Rather doat only on your gold,
And that with greedy avarice hold;
For, if woman too fubmit
To that, and fell herself for it,
Fond lover! you a mistress have
Of her that 's but your
What should those poets mean of old,
That made their God to wooe in gold?
Of all men, fure, they had no cause
To bind love to fuch coftly laws;
And yet I fcarcely blame them now;
For who, alas ! would not allow,
That women should fuch gifts receive,
Could they, as he, be what they give.
If thou, my dear, thyself shouldft prize,,
Alas! what value would fuffice?
The Spaniard could not do 't, though he
Should to both Indies jointure thee.
Thy beauties therefore wrong will take,
If thou shouldft any bargain make ;
To give all, will befit thee well;
But not at under-rates to fell.
Beftow thy beauty then on me,
Freely, as nature gave it to thee;
'Tis an exploded popish thought.
To think that heaven may be bought.
Prayers, hymns, and praises, are the way,
And those my thankful Mufe fhall pay :
Thy body, in my verfe enshrin'd,
Shall grow immortal as thy mind.
I'll fix thy title next in fame
To Sachariffa's well-fung name.
So faithfully will I declare
What all thy wondrous beauties are,
That when, at the last great affize,
All women shall together rife,
Men ftrait fhall caft their eyes on thee,
And know at firft that thou art fhe.
you be abfent here, I needs muft fay
The trees as beauteous are, and flowers as gay,
As ever they were wont to be;
Nay, the birds' rural musick too
Is as melodious and free,
As if they fung to pleasure you :
I faw a rofe-bud ope this morn-I 'll swear
The blushing morning open'd not more fair.
How could it be fo fair, and you away?
How could the trees be beauteous, flowers fo gay
Could they remember but last year,
How you did them, they you, delight,
The fprouting leaves which faw you here,
And call'd their fellows to the fight,
Would, looking round for the same sight in vain,
Creep back into their filent barks again.
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