As well might men who in a fever fry, As well might men who mad in darkness lie, I try'd devotion, sermons, frequent prayer, I try'd in wine to drown the mighty care; Like drunkards' eyes, my troubled fancy there I try'd what mirth and gaiety would do, Nay, God forgive me for't! at last I try'd, The physic made me worse, with which I strove, As wholesome medicines the disease improve HONOUR. SHE loves, and she confesses too; The fruits of conquest now begin; Iö triumph! Enter in. What's this, ye Gods! what can it be? ? Bold Honour stands up in the gate, Noisy nothing! stalking shade! But I shall find out counter-charms, Sure I shall rid myself of thee And obscurer secrecy! Unlike to every other sprite, Thou attempt'st not men to' affright, THE INNOCENT ILL. THOUGH all thy gestures and discourses be Though from thy tongue ne'er slipp'd away One word which nuns at the' altar might not say; Yet such a sweetness, such a grace, In all thy speech appear, That what to the' eye a beauteous face, So cunningly it wounds the heart, It strikes such heat through every part, That thou a tempter worse than Satan art. Though in thy thoughts scarce any tracks have been So much as of original sin, Such charms thy beauty wears as might Dost in each breast a brothel keep ; And some enjoy thee when they sleep. That a fly's death's a wound to thee; In all the deaths that come from you, You do the treble office do Which God did for our faults create! Which, sweet as health, yet like a plague dost kill! Thou chaste committer of a rape! Thou voluntary destiny, Which no man can, or would, escape! So gentle, and so glad to spare, So wondrous good, and wondrous fair, (We know) even the destroying-angels are. DIALOGUE. SHE. WHAT have we done? what cruel passion moved thee, Thus to ruin her that loved thee? Me thou'st robb'd; but what art thou Thyself the richer now? Shame succeeds the short-lived pleasure; So soon is spent, and gone, this thy ill-gotten treasure! HE. We have done no harm; nor was it theft in me, I'll the well-gotten pleasure What though the flower itself do waste, [last. The essence from it drawn does long and sweeter SHE. No: I'm undone; my honour thou hast slain, Art and labour to bestow, Is but to' embalm a body dead; The figure may remain, the life and beauty's fled. HE. Never, my dear, was honour yet undone By Love, but Indiscretion. Like tapers shut in ancient urns, Unless it let-in air, for ever shines and burns. SHE. Thou first, perhaps, who didst the fault Wilt make thy wicked boast of it; [commit, For men, with Roman pride, above The conquest do the triumph love; Nor think a perfect victory gain'd, [enchain'd. Unless they through the streets their captive lead HE. Whoe'er his secret joys has open laid, Beside, what boast is left for me, "Tis you the conqueror are, 'tis you [me too. Who have not only ta'en, but bound and gagged SHE. Though public punishment we escape, the sin Will rack and torture us within: Guilt and sin our bosom bears; And, though fair yet the fruit appears, That worm which now the core does waste, When long 't has gnaw'd within, will break the skin at last. HE. That thirsty-drink, that hungry-food, I sought, That wounded-balm, is all my fault; And thou in pity didst apply, The kind and only remedy: The cause absolves the crime; since me So mighty force did move, so mighty goodness thee. SHE. Curse on thine arts! methinks I hate thee now; And yet I'm sure I love thee too! I'm angry; but my wrath will prove More innocent than did thy love. Thou hast this day undone me quite ; Yet wilt undo me more shouldst thou not come VOL. II. at night. I |