3.

Beauty to man the greatest Torture is,
Unless it lead to farther bliss

Beyond the tyran'ous pleasures of the Eye.
It grows too serious a Crueltie,

Unless it Heal, as well as strike;

I would not, Salamander-like,

In scortching heats always to Live desire,
But like a Martyr, pass to Heav'en through Fire.

4.

Mark how the lusty Sun salutes the Spring,
And gently kisses every thing.

His loving Beams unlock each maiden flower,
Search all the Treasures, all the Sweets devour :
Then on the earth with Bridegroom-Heat,
He does still new Flowers beget.

The Sun himself, although all Eye he be,
Can find in Love more Pleasure than to see.

I

The Incurable.

I.

Try'd if Books would cure my Love, but found
Love made them Non-sense all.

I'apply'd Receipts of Business to my wound,
But stirring did the pain recall.

2.

As well might men who in a Feaver fry,
Mathematique doubts debate,

As well might men, who mad in darkness ly,
Write the Dispatches of a State.

3:

I try'd Devotion, Sermons, frequent Prayer,

But those did worse than useless prove;

For Pray'rs are turn'd to Sin in those who are
Out of Charity, or in Love.

4.

I try'd in Wine to drown the mighty care;
But Wine, alas, was Oyl to th' fire.

Like Drunkards eyes, my troubled Fancy there
Did double the Desire.

5.

1 try'd what Mirth and Gayety would do,
And mixt with pleasant Companies;
My Mirth did graceless and insipid grow,
And 'bove a Clinch it could not rise.

6.

Nay, God forgive me for't, at last I try'd
'Gainst this some new desire to stir,
And lov'd again, but 'twas where I espy'd
Some faint Resemblances of Her.

7.

The Physick made me worse with which I strove
This Mortal Ill t'expell,

As wholesome Med'icines the Disease improve,
There where they work not well.

Honour.

I.

HE Loves, and she confesses too;

SHE

There's then at last, no more to do.

The happy work's entirely done;

Enter the Town which thou hast won;
The Fruits of Conquest now begin;
Iô Triumph! Enter in.

2.

What's this, ye Gods, what can it be?
Remains there still an Enemie?

Bold Honour stands up in the Gate,

And would yet Capitulate;

Have I o'recome all real foes,
And shall this Phantome me oppose?

3.

Noisy Nothing! stalking Shade!
By what Witchcraft wert thou made?
Empty cause of Solid harms!

But I shall find out Counter-charms
Thy airy Devilship to remove
From this Circle here of Love.

4.

Sure I shall rid my self of Thee
By the Nights obscurity,
And obscurer secresie.

Unlike to every other spright,
Thou attempt'st not men t'affright,
Nor appear'st but in the Light.

THO

The Innocent Ill.

I.

Hough all thy gestures and discourses be
Coyn'd and stamp't by Modestie,

Though from thy Tongue ne're slipt away

One word which Nuns at th' Altar might not say, Yet such a sweetness, such a grace

In all thy speech appear,

That what to th' Eye a beauteous face,
That thy Tongue is to th' Ear.

So cunningly it wounds the heart,
It strikes such heat through every part,

That thou a Tempter worse than Satan art.

2.

Though in thy thoughts scarce any Tracks have bin So much as of Original Sin,

Such charms thy Beauty wears as might

Desires in dying confest Saints excite.

Thou with strange Adulterie

Dost in each breast a Brothel keep;
Awake all men do lust for thee,

And some enjoy Thee when they sleep.
Ne're before did Woman live,

Who to such Multitudes did give
The Root and cause of Sin, but only Eve.

3.

Though in thy breast so quick a Pity be,
That a Flies Death's a wound to thee.
Though savage, and rock-hearted those
Appear, that weep not ev'en Romances woes.
Yet ne're before was Tyrant known,
Whose rage was of so large extent,
The ills thou dost are whole thine own,
Thou'rt Principal and Instrument,

In all the deaths that come from you,
You do the treble Office do

Of Judge, of Tort'urer, and of Weapon too.

4.

Thou lovely Instrument of angry Fate,

Which God did for our faults create!
Thou Pleasant, Universal Ill,

Which sweet as Health, yet like a Plague dost kill!
Thou kind, well-natur'ed Tyrannie!

Thou chast committer of a Rape!

Thou voluntary Destinie,

Which no man Can, or Would escape!

So gentle, and so glad to spare,

So wondrous good, and wondrous fair, (We know) e'ven the Destroying Angels are.

She.

DIALOGUE.

I.

7 Hat have we done? what cruel passion mov'd thee, Thus to ruine her that lov'd Thee?

W

Me thou hast robb'ed, but what art thou

Thy Self the richer now?

Shame succeeds the short-liv'd pleasure;

So soon is spent, and gone, this thy Ill-gotten Treasure.

2.

He. We'have done no harm; nor was it Theft in me,
But noblest Charity in Thee.

I'll the well-gotten Pleasure

Safe in my Mem'ory Treasure ;

What though the Flower it self do wast, The Essence from it drawn does long and sweeter last.

3.

She. No: I'm undone; my Honour Thou hast slain,
And nothing can restore't again.

Art and Labour to bestow,

Upon the Carcase of it now,

Is but t'embalm a body dead,

The Figure may remain, the Life and Beauty's fled.

4.

He. Never, my dear, was Honour yet undone,
By Love, but Indiscretion.

To th' wise it all things does allow;
And cares not What we do; but How.
Like Tapers shut in ancient Urns,
Unless it let in air, for ever shines and burns.

5.

She. Thou first perhaps who didst the fault commit,
Wilt make thy wicked boast of it.

For Men, with Roman pride, above
The Conquest, do the Triumph love:

Nor think a perfect Victory gain'd,

Unless they through the streets their Captive lead enchain'd.