So torn, and fo defac'd, it lies,

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

And knew by th' voice that 'twas mine own.
So poor Alcione, when fhe faw

A fhipwreck'd body tow’rds her draw,
Beat by the waves, let fall a tear,
Which only then did pity wear :
But, when the corpfe on fhore were caft,
Which fhe her husband found at last,
What should the wretched widow do?
Grief chang'd her ftrait; away fhe flew,
Turn'd to a bird: and fo at laft fhall I

Both from my murder'd heart and murderer fly.

ANSWER TO THE PLATONICKS.

So angels love; fo let them love for me;

When I'm all foul, fuch fhall my love too be: Who nothing here but like a spirit would do, In a fhort time, believe 't, will be one too. But, fhall our love do what in beafts we fee? Ev'n beasts eat too, but not fo well as we : And you as juftly might in thirst refuse The ufe 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 : But to us men, Love cooks it at his fire, And adds the poignant fauce of fharp defire.

Beats,

Beafts do the fame: 'tis true; but ancient Fame
Says, Gods themselves turn'd beasts to do the fame.
The Thunderer, who, without the female bed,
Could Goddeffes bring-forth from out his head,
Chofe rather mortals this way to create;

So much he' esteem'd his pleasure 'bove his ftate.
Ye talk of fires which fhine, but never burn;
In this cold world they 'll hardly ferve our turn;
As ufelefs to despairing lovers grown,

As lambent flames to men i' th' frigid zone.

The fun does his pure fires on earth bestow
With nuptial warmth, to bring-forth things below;
Such is Love's nobleft and divinest heat,

That warms like his, and does, like his, beget.
Luft you call this; a name to your's more juft,
If an inordinate defire be luft:

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

Loving one first because she could love Nobody,. afterwards loving her with Defire.

W

HAT new-found witchcraft was in thee,
With thine own cold to kindle me?
Strange art like him that fhould devife
To make a burning-glass of ice :
When winter fo, the plants would hạrm,
Her fnow itself does keep them warm.
VOL. I.

R

Fool

Fool that I was! who, having found
A rich and funny diamond,
Admir'd the hardness of the stone,
But not the light with which it fhone:
Your brave and haughty fcorn of all
Was stately and monarchical.

All gentleness, with that esteem'd,
A dull and flavish virtue feem'd ;
Should'st thou have yielded then to me,
Thou 'dft loft what I moft lov'd in thee;
For who would ferve one, whom he fees
That he can conquer if he please ?
It far'd with me, as if a flave
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 fuch a comely fhow.

I fought not from thee a return,
But without hopes or fears did burn;
My covetous paffion did approve
The hoarding-up, not ufe, 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!
Prifoners to die are waken'd fo;

For now th' effects of loving are
Nothing but longings, with defpair :
Defpair, whofe torments no men, fure,
But lovers and the damn'd, endure.

Her fcorn I doated once upon,

Ill object for affection ;

But fince, alas! too much 'tis prov'd,

That yet 'twas fomething that I lov'd;
Now
my defires are worse, and fly

At an impoffibility:

Defires, which, whilft fo high they foar,
Are proud as that I lov'd before.
What lover can like me complain,
Who first lov'd vainly, next in vain !

I

THE SOUL..

F mine eyes do e'er declare

They 've seen a second thing that 's fair; Or ears, that they have mufick found,

Befides thy voice, in any found;

If

my tafte do ever meet,

After thy kifs, with aught that 's sweet;

If

my abused touch allow

Aught to be smooth, or foft, but you;
If what seasonable fprings,

Or the Eaftern fummer, brings,

Do

my

fmell perfuade at all

Aught perfume, but thy breath, to call;
If all my fenfes' objects be

Not contracted into thee,

And fo through thee more powerful pafs,
As beams do through a burning-glass ;
If all things that in nature are
Either foft, or fweet, or fair,

Be not in thee fo' epitomis'd,

That nought material 's not compris'd;
May I as worthlefs feem to thee
As all, but thou, appears to me!

If I ever anger know,

Till fome wrong be done to you;
If Gods or Kings my envy move,
Without their crowns crown'd by thy love
If ever I an 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 taftes of any thing but thee;

If any forrow touch my mind,

Whilst you are well, and not unkind;
If I a minute's space debate,

Whether I fhall curfe 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 fo nigh,
As to allow a toleration

To the least glimmering inclination ::
If thou alone dost not control
All those tyrants of my foul,

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

By any force, or any art,

Be