No More Learning

The thing they here call love is blind desire,
Armed with bow, shafts, and fire;
Inconstant, like the sea, of whence 'tis born,
Rough, swelling, like a storm;
With whom who sails, rides on the surge of fear,
And boils as if he were
In a continual tempest. Now, true love
No such effects doth prove;
That is an essence far more gentle, fine,
Pure, perfect, nay, divine;
It is a golden chain let down from heaven,
Whose links are bright and even;
That falls like sleep on lovers, and combines
The soft and sweetest minds
In equal knots: this bears no brands, nor darts,
To murder different hearts,
But, in a calm and god-like unity,
Preserves community.
O, who is he that, in this peace, enjoys
Th' elixir of all joys?
A form more fresh than are the Eden bowers,
And lasting as her flowers;
Richer than Time and, as Times's virtue, rare;
Sober as saddest care;
A fixed thought, an eye untaught to glance;
Who, blest with such high chance,
Would, at suggestion of a steep desire,
Cast himself from the spire
Of all his happiness? But soft: I hear
Some vicious fool draw near,
That cries, we dream, and swears there's no such thing,
As this chaste love we sing.
Peace, Luxury! thou art like one of those
Who, being at sea, suppose,
Because they move, the continent doth so:
No, Vice, we let thee know
Though thy wild thoughts with sparrows' wings do fly,
Turtles can chastely die;
And yet (in this t' express ourselves more clear)
We do not number here
Such spirits as are only continent,
Because lust's means are spent;
Or those who doubt the common mouth of fame,
And for their place and name,
Cannot so safely sin: their chastity
Is mere necessity;
Nor mean we those whom vows and conscience
Have filled with abstinence:
Though we acknowledge who can so abstain,
Makes a most blessed gain;
He that for love of goodness hateth ill,
Is more crown-worthy still
Than he, which for sin's penalty forbears:
His heart sins, though he fears.
But we propose a person like our Dove,
Graced with a Phoenix' love;
A beauty of that clear and sparkling light,
Would make a day of night,
And turn the blackest sorrows to bright joys:
Whose odorous breath destroys
All taste of bitterness, and makes the air
As sweet as she is fair.
A body so harmoniously composed,
As if nature disclosed
All her best symmetry in that one feature!
O, so divine a creature
Who could be false to? chiefly, when he knows
How only she bestows
The wealthy treasure of her love on him;
Making his fortunes swim
In the full flood of her admired perfection?
What savage, brute affection,
Would not be fearful to offend a dame
Of this excelling frame?
Much more a noble, and right generous mind,
To virtuous moods inclined,
That knows the weight of guilt: he will refrain
From thoughts of such a strain,
And to his sense object this sentence ever,
"Man may securely sin, but safely never. "



AN ELEGY.


THOUGH beauty be the mark of praise,
And yours, of whom I sing, be such
As not the world can praise too much,
Yet is 't your virtue now I raise.
A virtue, like allay, so gone
Throughout your form, as though that move,
And draw, and conquer all men's love,
This subjects you to love of one,

Wherein you triumph yet: because
'Tis of yourself, and that you use
The noblest freedom, not to choose
Against or faith, or honour's laws.

But who could less expect from you,
In whom alone Love lives again?
By whom he is restored to men;
And kept, and bred, and brought up true?

His falling temples you have reared,
The withered garlands ta'en away;
His altars kept from the decay
That envy wished, and nature feared;

And on them burns so chaste a flame,
With so much loyalty's expense,
As Love, t' acquit such excellence,
Is gone himself into your name.

And you are he: the deity
To whom all lovers are designed,
That would their better objects find;
Among which faithful troop am I;

Who, as an offering at your shrine,
Have sung this hymn, and here entreat
One spark of your diviner heat
To light upon a love of mine;

Which, if it kindle not, but scant
Appear, and that to shortest view,
Yet give me leave t' adore in you
What I, in her, am grieved to want.




FOOTNOTES


{11} "So live with yourself that you do not know how ill yow mind is
furnished. "

{12} ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?