And the glad news that we the enemy miss; And those are all your own, if you spare this. Some are but new trimm'd up, others quite new; Some by known shipwrights built, and others too By that great author made, whoe'er he be, That styles himself " Person of Quality;" All these, if we miscarry here to-day, Will rather till they rot in th' harbour stay; Nay, they will back again, though they were come Ev'n to their last safe road, the tyring-room. Therefore again I say, if you be wife, Let this for once pass free; let it suffice That we, your sovereign power here to avow, Thus humbly, ere we pass, strike fail to you.
ADDED AT COURT.
STAY, gentlemen; what I have faid was all But forc'd fubmiffion, which I now recall. Ye 're all but pirates now again; for here Does the true sovereign of the seas appear, The fovereign of these narrow seas of wit; 'Tis his own Thames; he knows and governs it. 'Tis his dominion and domain; as he Pleases, 'tis either shut to us, or free. Not only, if his passport we obtain, We fear no little rovers of the main; But, if our Neptune his calm visage show, No wave shall dare to rife or wind to blow.
SEVERAL COPIES OF LOVE-VERSES.
"Hæret lateri lethalis arundo." VIRG.
REQUEST.
to love; what shall I do?
Me still the cruel boy does spare;
And I a double task must bear,
First to wooe him, and then a mistress too. Come at last and strike, for shame,
If thou art any thing besides a name; I 'll think thee else no God to be,
But poets rather Gods, who first created thee.
I ask not one in whom all beauties grow; Let me but love, whate'er she be,
She cannot feem deform'd to me;
And I would have her feem to others so. Defire takes wings and strait does fly,
It stays not dully to enquire the Why.
That happy thing, a lover, grown,
I shall not fee with others' eyes, scarce with mine own.
If she be coy, and scorn my noble fire; If her chill heart I cannot move; Why I 'll enjoy the very love,
And make a mistress of my own desire.
Flames their most vigorous heat do hold, And purest light, if compass'd round with cold: So, when sharp winter means most harm, The springing plants are by the snow itself kept warm.
But do not touch my heart, and so be gone; Strike deep thy burning arrows in ! Lukewarmness I account a fin,
As great in love as in religion.
Come arm'd with flames; for I would prove
All the extremities of mighty Love. Th' excess of heat is but a fable;
We know the torrid zone is now found habitable.
Among the woods and forests thou art found, There boars and lions thou doft tame; Is not my heart a nobler game ? Let Venus, men; and beasts, Diana, wound! Thou doft the birds thy subjects make; Thy nimble feathers do their wings o'ertake: Thou all the spring their fongs dost hear; Make me love too, I'll fing to thee all the year !
What service can mute fishes do to thee? Yet againfl them thy dart prevails, Piercing the armour of their scales; And ftill thy fea-born mother lives i' th' sea,
Doft thou deny only to me The no-great privilege of captivity ? I beg or challenge here thy bow;
Either thy pity to me, or else thine anger, show.
Come! or I 'll teach the world to scorn that bow: I'll teach them thousand wholesome arts
Both to refift and cure thy darts, More than thy skilful Ovid e'er did know. Mufick of fighs thou shalt not hear, Nor drink one wretched lover's tasteful tear: Nay, unless soon thou woundest me,
My verses shall not only wound, but murder, thee.
ICAME, I faw, and was undone;
Lightning did through my bones and marrow run;
A pointed pain pierc'd deep my heart; A fwift cold trembling seiz'd on every part; My head turn'd round, nor could it bear The poifon that was enter'd there.
So a destroying-angel's breath Blows-in the plague, and with it hasty death: Such was the pain, did so begin, To the poor wretch, when Legion enter'd in. "Forgive me, God!" I cry'd; "Flatter'd myself I was to die."
But quickly to my cost I found,
'Twas cruel Love, not Death, had made the wound: Death a more generous rage does use;
Quarter to all he conquers does refuse : Whilst Love with barbarous mercy saves The vanquish'd lives, to make them flaves.
I am thy flave then; let me know, Hard mafter! the great task I have to do: Who pride and scorn do undergo, In tempests and rough feas thy galleys row; They pant, and groan, and figh; but find Their fighs increase the angry wind.
Like an Egyptian tyrant, some
Thou weariest out in building but a tomb; Others, with fad and tedious art, Labour i' th' quarries of a stony heart: Of all the works thou dost assign, To all the feveral flaves of thine, Employ me, mighty Love! to dig the mine.
"LL on; for what should hinder me From loving and enjoying thee ?
Thou canst not those exceptions make, Which vulgar, fordid mortals take- That my fate 's too mean and low; 'Twere pity I should love thee so,
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