If where a gentle Bee hath fallen,
And labour'd to his Power,
A new succeeds not to that Flow'r,
But passes by, 'Tis to be thought, the Gallant elsewhere loads his
Thigh.
For still the Flowers ready stand,
One buzzes round about,
One lights, one tastes, gets in, gets out;
All always use them,
Till all their sweets are gone, and all again refuse them.
Scire se liceret quæ debes subire
Et non subire, pulchrum est scire ;
Sed si subire debes que debes scire :
Quersum vis scire, nam debes subire ?
IF Man might know
The Ill he must undergo,
And shun it so,
Then it were good to know :
But if he undergo it,
Though he know it,
What boots him know it?
He must undergo it.
STAY here, fond Youth, and ask no more, be wise :
Knowing too much long since lost Paradise.
The virtuous Joys thou hast, thou would'st should still
Last in their Pride ; and would'st not take it ill
If rudely from sweet Dreams (and for a Toy)
Thou wert awak'd ? He wakes himself that does
enjoy.
Fruition adds no new Wealth, but destroys,
And, while it pleaseth much the Palate, cloys ;
Who thinks he shall be happier for that
As reasonably might hope he might grow fat
By eating to a Surfeit ; this once past,
What relishes ? even Kisses lose their Taste.
Urge not 'tis necessary, alas ! we know
The homeliest Thing which Mankind does is so ;
The World is of a vast Extent, we see,
And must be peopled ; children there must be ;
So must Bread too; but since there are enough
Born to the Drudgery, what need we plough?
Women enjoy'd (whate'er before t' have been)
Are like Romances read, or Sights once seen ;
Fruition's dull, and spoils the Play much more,
Than if one read or knew the Plot before ;
'Tis Expectation makes a Blessing dear,
Heaven were not Heaven if we knew what it were.
And as in Prospects we are there pleased most Where something keeps the Eye from being lost, And leaves us Room to guess ; so here Restraint Holds up Delight that with Excess would faint. They who know all the Wealth they have are poor, He's only rich that cannot tell his Store.
Another of the Same,
against Fruition
FIE upon Hearts that burn with mutual Fire :
I hate two Minds that breathe but one Desire :
Were I to curse th' unhallowed sort of Men,
I'd wish them to love and be lov'd again.
Love's a Camelion, that lives on mere Air ;
And surfeits when it comes to grosser Fare :
'Tis petty Jealousies and little Fears,
Hopes join'd with Doubts, and Joys with April Tears,
That crowns our Love with Pleasures : these are
gone
When once we come to full fruition.
Like waking in a Morning when all Night
Our Fancy hath been fed with true Delight.
Oh! what a Stroke 'twould be ! sure I should die,
Should I but hear my Mistress once say ay.
That Monster Expectation feeds too high
For any Woman e'er to satisfy :
And no brave Spirit ever cared for that
Which in down Beds with Ease he could come at ;
She's but an honest Whore that yields, although
She be as cold as Ice, as pure as Snow :
He that enjoys her hath no more to say,
But keeps us fasting, if you'll have us pray.
Then, fairest Mistress, hold the Power you have
By still denying what we still do crave :
In keeping us in Hopes strange Things to see
That never were, nor are, nor e'er shall be.
LOVE, Reason, Hate did once bespeak
Three Mates to play at Barley-break.
Love Folly took, and Reason Fancy;
And Hate consorts with Pride ; so dance they.
Love coupled last, and so it fell
That Love and Folly were in Hell.
They break, and Love would Reason meet,
But Hate was nimbler on her feet :
Fancy looks for Pride and whither
Hies, and they two hug together,
Yet this new coupling still doth tell
That Love and Folly were in Hell.
The rest do break again, and Pride
Hath now got Reason on her side ;
P.4 B
17
Hate and Fancy meet, and stand
Untouch'd by Love in Folly's hand :
Folly was dull, but Love ran well,
So Love and Folly were in Hell.
'Tis now since I sat down before
That foolish Fort a Heart, (Time strangely spent) a Year and more,
And still I did my Part.
Made my Approaches, from her Hand,
Unto her Lip did rise, And did already understand
The Language of her Eyes.
Proceeded on with no less Art,
My Tongue was Engineer;
I thought to undermine the Heart
By whispering in the Ear.
When this did Nothing, I brought down
Great cannon-oaths, and shot
A thousand thousand to the Town,
And still it yielded not.
I then resolv'd to starve the Place
By cutting off all kisses, Praying and gazing in her Face,
And all such little Blisses.
To draw her out, and from her Strength,
I drew all Batteries in,
And brought myself to lie at length
As if no siege had been.
When I had done what Man could do,
And thought the Place mine own,
The Enemy lay quiet too
And smiled at all was done.
I sent to know from whence and where
These Hopes and this Relief?
A Spy inform’d, Honour was there
And did command in Chief.
March, march, quoth I, the Word straight give,
Let's lose no Time but leave her; That Grant upon Air will live,
And hold it out for ever.
To such a Place our Camp remove,
As will no Siege abide ;
I hate a Fool that starves her Love,
Only to feed her Pride.
I TELL thee, Dick, where I have been,
Where I the rarest Things have seen,
O, Things without Compare !
Such Sights again cannot be found
In any Place on English Ground,
Be it at Wake or Fair.
At Charing Cross, hard by the Way
Where we (thou know'st) do sell our Hay
There is a House with Stairs ;
And there did I see coming down
Such Folk as are not in our Town,
Forty, at least, in Pairs.
Amongst the rest one pest'lent fine
(His Beard no bigger though than thine)
Walk'd on before the Best ;
Our Landlord looks like nothing to him
The King (God bless him !) 't would undo him
Should he go still so drest.
|