No More Learning

T'is a lost paradise, a fall from grace,
Which I thinke, Adam felt more then his race.
Nor need those angells any other Hell;
It is enough for them, from Heaven they fell. 20
Besides, Conquest in love is all in all;
That when I liste, shee under me may fall:
And for this turne, both for delight and view,
I'le have a Succuba, as good as you.
But when these toyes are past, and hott blood ends, 25
The best enjoying is, we still are frends.
Love can but be frendshipps outside; their two
Beauties differ, as myndes and bodies do.
Thus, I this great Good still would be to take,
Vnless one houre, another happy make: 30
Or, that I might forgett it instantlie;
Or in that blest estate, that I might die.
But why doe I thus travaile in the skill
Of despis'd poetrie, and perchance spill
My fortune? or undoe myself in sport 35
By having but that dangerous name in Court?
I'le leave, and since I doe your poet prove,
Keep you my lines as secret as my Love.

[An Elegie _&c. _ _A10_, _L74_ (J. R. _in margin_), _RP31_:
Elegie _N_, _TCD_ (J. R. ): Elegie to his M.
promissing to love
him an hour. _HN_ (_signed J. R. _): An Elegy 1602. To M^{rs}
Boulstrede. _Le Prince d'Amour. &c. _ _1660

[7 text from HN_: The beggers best is, that wealth he doth
<not> know, _A10_: The beggar's best, his _&c. _ _L74_, _RP31_,
_N_, _TCD_, _Sim_: The beggar's best that _Grosart_]

[9 two _Sim_: _om. HN_, _L74_, _N_, _RP31_, _TCD_: But we an
hour may now enjoy when never _A10_

hour? ] hour; _L74_]

[10 It returnes] Again't returnes _A10_]

[16 or have] or else _A10_]

[21 Besides, _A10_: Beside, _L74_]

[23 delight] despite _A10_]

[27 but be] be but _Sim_

their _Ed_: there _A10_, _L74_]

[30 one] on _L74_]

[32 _Poem closes_, _A10_]

[34 despis'd poetrie,] deeper mysteries, _Sim_]




_An Elegie. _

True Love findes witt, but he whose witt doth move
Him to love, confesses he doth not love:
And from his witt, passions and true desire
Are forc'd as hard, as from the flint is fire.
My love's all fire whose flames my soule do nurse, 5
Whose smokes are sighes; whose every sparke's a verse.
Doth measure women win? Then I know why
Most of our Ladies with the Scotts doe lie.
A Scott is measur'd in each syllable, terse
And smooth as a verse: and like that smooth verse 10
Is shallow, and wants matter, but in his handes,
And they are rugged; Her state better standes
Whom dauncing measures tempted, not the Scott:
In brief she's out of measure, lost, soe gott.