No More Learning

TO OENONE.

Thou say'st Love's dart
Hath pricked thy heart;
And thou dost languish too:
If one poor prick
Can make thee sick,
Say, what would many do?


836. TO ELECTRA.

Shall I go to Love and tell,
Thou art all turned icicle?
Shall I say her altars be
Disadorn'd and scorn'd by thee?
O beware! in time submit;
Love has yet no wrathful fit:
If her patience turns to ire,
Love is then consuming fire.


837. TO MISTRESS AMY POTTER.

Ay me! I love; give him your hand to kiss
Who both your wooer and your poet is.
Nature has precompos'd us both to love:
Your part's to grant; my scene must be to move.
Dear, can you like, and liking love your poet?
If you say "Aye," blush-guiltiness will show it.
Mine eyes must woo you, though I sigh the while:
_True love is tongueless as a crocodile_.
And you may find in love these different parts--
_Wooers have tongues of ice, but burning hearts_.


838. UPON A MAID.

Here she lies, in bed of spice,
Fair as Eve in Paradise:
For her beauty it was such
Poets could not praise too much.
Virgins, come, and in a ring
Her supremest requiem sing;
Then depart, but see ye tread
Lightly, lightly, o'er the dead.

_Supremest_, last.


839. UPON LOVE.

Love is a circle, and an endless sphere;
From good to good, revolving here and there.


840. BEAUTY.

Beauty's no other but a lovely grace
Of lively colours flowing from the face.


841. UPON LOVE.

Some salve to every sore we may apply;
Only for my wound there's no remedy.