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Pox o’your friends, that dote and domineer!
Lovers are better friends than they :
Let's those in other things obey; The Fates, and Stars, and Gods, must govern here.
Vain names of blood ! in love let none Advise with any blood, but with their own. 'Tis that which bids me this bright maid adore ;
No other thought has had access !
Did she now beg, I'd love no less, And, were she an empress, I should love no more:
Were she as just and true to me, Ah, simple soul! what would become of thee?
AGAINST HOPE. Hope! whose weak being ruin'd is, Alike, if it succeed, and if it miss; Whom good or ill does equally confound, And both the horns of Fate's dilemma wound:
Vain shadow! which dost vanish quite,
Both at full noon and perfect night! The stars have not a possibility
Of blessing thee; If things then from their end we happy call, 'Tis Hope is the most hopeless thing of all.
Hope! thou bold taster of delight,
Good fortunes without gain imported be,
Such mighty custom's paid to thee. For joy, like wine, kept close does better taste; If it take air before, its spirits waste.
Hope! Fortune's cheating lottery ! Where for one prize an hundred blanks there be ; Fond archer, Hope! who takest thy aim so far, That still or short or wide thine arrows are !
Thin, empty cloud, which the eye deceives
With shapes that our own fancy gives!
But must drop presently in tears !
Brother of Fear, more gayly clad ! The merrier fool o' the two, yet quite as mad: Sire of Repentance! child of fond Desire ! That blow'st the chemics', and the lovers', fire,
Leading them still insensibly on
By the strange witchcraft of “ Anon!" By thee the one does changing Nature, through
Her endless labyrinths, pursue ; And the other chases Woman, whilst she goes More ways and turns than hunted Nature knows.
Hope! of all ills that men endure, The only cheap and universal cure! Thou captive's freedom, and thou sick man's health; Thou loser's victory, and thou beggar's wealth!
Thou manna, which from heaven we eat,
To every taste a several meat!
Which nought has power to alienate !
Hope! thou first-fruits of happiness! Thou gentle dawning of a bright success! Thou good preparative, without which our joy Does work too strong, and, whilst it cures, destroy!
Who out of Fortune's reach dost stand,
And art a blessing still in hand!
We certain are to gain,
Brother of Faith! 'twixt whom and thee
Happiness itself's all one
In thee, or in possession !
Thine's the more hard and noble bliss :
Hope! thou sad lovers' only friend !
Fruition more deceitful is
Men leave thee, by obtaining, and straight flee
Some other way again to thee;
When first I let thee in,
thee but a part In my unwary
heart, That thou wouldst e'er have grown So false or strong to make it all thine own.
At mine own breast with care I fed thee still,
Letting thee suck thy fill;
What ill returns dost thou allow !-
There was a time when thou wast cold and chill,
Nor hadst the power of doing ill ;
bosom did I take
Not fearing from it any harm; But now it stings that breast which made it warm. What cursed weed's this Love! but one grain sow,
And the whole field 'twill overgrow ; Straight will it choke up and devour Each wholesome herb and beauteous flower! Nay, unless something soon I do, 'Twill kill, I fear, my very laurel too.
But now all's gone-I now, alas! complain,
Declare, protest, and threat, in vain;
And is so settled in the throne,
THE FRAILTY. I KNOW 'tis sordid and 'tis low (All this as well as you I know) Which I so hotly now pursue (I know all this as well as you);
But, whilst this cursed flesh I bear, And all the weakness and the baseness there, Alas! alas! it will be always so.
In vain, exceedingly in vain,
rage sometimes, and bite my chain; Yet to what purpose do I bite With teeth which ne'er will break it quite ?
For, if the chiefest Christian Head Was by this sturdy tyrant buffeted, What wonder is it if weak I be slain?
COLDNESS. As water fluid is, till it do grow
Solid and fix'd by cold ;
Frost only can it hold: