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ftand upon,


You see what bangs it has endur'd,
That would, before new feats, be cur'd:
But if that 's all

Here strike me, Luck, it shall be done.

Quoth the, The matter 's not so far gone
As you suppose; two words t'a bargain;

be done, and time enough, When you have given downright proof; And yet ’tis no fantastick pique

$45 I have to love, nor coy dislike; 'Tis no implicit, nice averfion T' your conversation, mient, or person; But a just fear, left Mould

prove False 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,
And shine upon me but benignly,
With that one and that other pigsney,
The sun and day shall sooner part,
Than love or you shake off my heart;
The sun, 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





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frown upon


That shall infuse eternal spring,
And everlasting flourishing;

letter on 't in ftum,
And make it brisk champaign become.
Where'er you tread, your foot shall set
The primrose and the violet;
All fpices, perfumes, and sweet powders,
Shall borrow from your breath their odours;
Nature her charter shall renew,
And take all lives of things from you;
The world depend upon your eye,
And when

it, die :
Only our loves shall still survive,
New worlds and natures to outlive,
And like to heralds' moons remain,
All crescents, without change or wane.

Hold, hold, quoth she, no more of this,
Sir Knight, you take your aim amiss;

will find it a hard chapter, To catch me with poetick rapture, In which your Mastery of Art. Doth shew itself, and not


Nor will you raise in mine combustion,
By dint of high heroic fustian.
She that with poetry is won,
Is but a desk to write upon ;,
And what men say of her, they mean,
No more than on the thing they lean.
Some with Arabian spices strive
T'embalm her cruelly alive;


For you







Or season her, as French cooks use
Their baut-gouffs, boullies, or ragouffs :
Use her so 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 tan oyster's, with
A row of pearl in 't, 'stead of teeth.
Others make posies of her cheeks,
Where red and whiteft colours mix;
In which the lily and the rose,
For Indian lake and ceruse goés.
The sun and moon, by her bright eyes,
Eclips'd, and darken'd in the skies,
Are but black patches, that she wears,
Cut into suns, and moons, and stars ;
By which astrologers, as well
As those in heaven above, can tell
What Itrange events they do foreshow
Unto her under-world below.
Her voice, the music of the spheres,
So loud, it deafens mortals' ears,
As wife philosophers have thought,
And that 's the cause we hear it not.
This has been done by fome, who those
They' ador’d in rhyme would kick in prose ;





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





And in those ribbons would have hung,
of which melodiously they sung,
That have the hard fate to write best
Of those still that deserve it least;
It matters not how false or forc'd,
So the best things be said o'th' worst;

goes for nothing when 'tis said,
Only the arrow 's drawn to th' head,
Whether it be a swan or goose
They level at: so shepherds use
To set the same mark on the hip
Both of their found and rotten Theep :
For wits that carry low or wide,
Must be aim'd higher, or beside
The mark, which else they ne'er come nigh,
But when they take their aim awry.
But I do wonder you should chuse
This way t' attack me with your Muse,
As one cut out to pass your tricks on,
With Fulhams of poetick fiction :
I rather hop'd I Mould no more
Hear from you o' th' gallanting score ;
For hard dry-bastings usd to prove
The readiest remedies of love,
Next a dry-diet; but if those fail,
Yet this uneasy loop-hold jail,
In which ye 're hamper'd by the fetlock,
Cannot but put y' in mind of wedlock;
Wedlock, that 's worse than any hole here,
If that may serve you for a cooler




T' allay

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




T'allay your mettle, all agog
Upon a wife, the heavier clog :
Nor rather thank your gentler fate,
That for a bruis'd or broken páte
Has frecd you from those knobs that grow
Much harder on the marry'd brow:
But if no dread can cool your courage,
From venturing on that dragon, marriage ;
Yet give me quarter, and advance
To nobler aims your puissance;
Level at beauty and at wit;
The faireft mark is easiest hit.

Quoth Hudibras, I am beforehand
In that already, with your command;
For where does beauty and high wit,
But in your constellation, 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
Nor take one of so mean deserts,
To be the partner of your parts ;
A grace which, if I could believe;
I've not the conscience to receive.

That conscience, quoth Hudibras,
Is misinform'd ; I'll itate the case.
A man may be a legal donor
Dfrany thing whereof he's owner,
And may where he lists,
I'th' judgment of all casuists :







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