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The Gods, when they descended, hither From heaven did always choose their way; And therefore we may boldly say,

That 'tis the way too thither.

How happy here should I, And one dear She, live, and embracing die ! She, who is all the world, and can exclude

In deserts solitude,

I should have then this only fearLest men, when they my pleasures see, Should hither throng to live like me,

And so make a city here.

MY DIET. 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 feast;

A thousand more will added be, If you an inclination have for me ; And all beyond is vast eternity!


Thou robb’st my days of business and delights,

Of sleep thou robb'st my nights;
Ah, lovely thief! what wilt thou do?
What? rob me of heaven too?
Thou even my prayers dost steal from me;

And I, with wild idolatry,
Begin to God, and end them all to thee.
Is it a sin to love, that it should thus,

Like an ill conscience, torture us?
Whate'er I do, where'er I go,
(None guiltless e'er was haunted so !)
Still, still, methinks, thy face I view,

And still thy shape does me pursue,
As if, not you me, but I had murder'd you,
From books I strive some remedy to take,

But thy name all the letters make;
Whate'er 'tis writ, I find That there,
Like points and commas every-where:
Me bless'd for this let no man hold;

For I, as Midas did of old,
Perish by turning every thing to gold.
What do I seek, alas! or why do I

Attempt in vain from thee to fly?

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For making thee my deity,

gave thee then ubiquity.
My pains resemble hell in this ;

The divine presence there too is,
But to torment men, not to give them bliss.


"Tis well, 'tis well with them, say I, Whose short-lived passions with themselves can

For none can be unhappy, who, [die;

'Midst all his ills, a time does know (Though ne'er so long) when he shall not be so.

Whatever parts of me remain,
Those parts will still the love of thee retain ;

For 'twas not only in my heart,

But, like a God, by powerful art
'Twas all in all, and all in every part.

My affection no more perish can
Than the first matter that compounds a man.

Hereafter, if one dust of me

Mix'd with another's substance be, "Twill leaven that whole lump with love of thee.

Let Nature, if she please, disperse My atoms over all the universe;

At the last they easily shall

Themselves know, and together call;
For thy love, like a mark, is stamp'd on all.



Now, sure, within this twelvemonth past, I’ave loved at least some twenty years or more :

The' account of Love runs much more fast

Than that with which our life does score : So, though my life be short, yet I may prove

I The great Methusalem of Love.

Not that Love's hours or minutes are Shorter than those our being's measured by ;

But they're more close compacted far,

And so in lesser room do lie :
Thin airy things extend themselves in space,

Things solid take up little place.

Yet Love, alas ! and Life, in me,
Are not two several things, but purely one;

At once how can there in it be

A double, different motion ? O yes, there may;

for so the self-same sun At once does slow and swiftly run:

Swiftly his daily journey he goes,
But treads his annual with a statelier pace;

And does three hundred rounds enclose

Within one yearly circle's space; At once, with double course in the same sphere,

He runs the day, and walks the year.

When Soul does to myself refer, "Tis then my life, and does but slowly move;

But when it does relate to her,

It swiftly flies, and then is Love. Love's

course, divided right "Twixt hope and fear-my day and night.

my diurnal


Take heed, take heed, thou lovely maid,

Nor be by glittering ills betray'd ; Thyself for money! oh, let no man know

The price of beauty fallen so low !

What dangers ought'st thou not to dread, When Love, that's blind, is by blind Fortune led?

The foolish Indian, that sells

His precious gold for beads and bells, Does a more wise and gainful traffic hold

Than thou, who sell'st thyself for gold.

What gains in such a bargain are? He'll in thy mines dig better treasures far.

Can gold, alas! with thee compare ?

The sun, that makes it, 's not so fair ; The sun, which can nor make nor ever see

A thing so beautiful as thee,

In all the journeys he does pass, Though the sea served him for a looking-glass.

Bold was the wretch that cheapen’d thee;

Since Magus, none so bold as be: Thou’rt so divine a thing, that thee to buy

Is to be counted simony;

Too dear he'll find his sordid price Has forfeited that and the Benefice.

If it be lawful thee to buy,

There's none can pay that rate but I; Nothing on earth a fitting price can be,

But what on earth's most like to thee;

And that my heart does only bear; For there thyself, thy very self is there.

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