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And the glad news that we the enemy miss;
And thofe are all your own, if you spare this.
Some are but new trimm'd up, others quite new;
Some by known fhipwrights built, and others too
By that great author made, whoe'er he be,
That ftyles himself " Perfon of Quality;"
All these, if we mifcarry 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 fay, if you be wife,

Let this for once pass free; let it fuffice
That we, your fovereign power here to avow,
Thus humbly, ere we pass, strike fail to you.

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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 fovereign of the feas 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 fhut to us, or free.
Not only, if his paffport we obtain,
We fear no little rovers of the main ;
But, if our Neptune his calm visage show,
No wave fhall dare to rife or wind to blow.


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'ave often with'd to love; what fhall I do?

Me ftill the cruel boy does fpare;

And I a double task must bear,

First to wooe him, and then a mistress too.
Come at last and strike, for fhame,

If thou art any thing befides a name;
I'll think thee elfe no God to be,

But poets rather Gods, who firft created thee.

I ask not one in whom all beauties grow;
Let me but love, whate'er fhe be,
She cannot feem deform'd to me;
And I would have her feem to others fo.
Defire takes wings and ftrait does fly,
It ftays not dully to enquire the Why.

That happy thing, a lover, grown,

I shall not fee with others' eyes, fcarce with mine own.

If fhe be coy, and scorn my noble fire;
If her chill heart I cannot move;
Why I 'll enjoy the very love,

And make a miftrefs of my own defire.
Flames their most vigorous heat do hold,
And pureft light, if compafs'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 fo be gone;
Strike deep thy burning arrows in!


Lukewarmness I account a fin,

great in love as in religion.

Come arm'd with flames; for I would prove All the extremities of mighty Love.

Th' excefs 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 fubjects make;
Thy nimble feathers do their wings o'ertake:
Thou all the fpring their fongs doft hear;
Make me love too, I'll fing to' thee all the year!

What service can mute fishes do to thee?

Yet against them thy dart prevails,
Piercing the armour of their fcales;

And still thy fea-born mother lives i' th' fea.


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 fcorn that bow:
I'll teach them thousand wholefome 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 tafteful tear:
Nay, unless foon thou woundest me,

My verfes fhall 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 swift cold trembling feiz'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 hafty death:
Such was the pain, did fo begin,

To the poor wretch, when Legion enter'd in.
Forgive me, God!" I cry'd; " for I
"Flatter'd myself I was to die."



But quickly to my coft 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 :
Whilft Love with barbarous mercy faves
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 tempefts 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 wearieft out in building but a tomb;
Others, with fad and tedious art,

Labour i' th' quarries of a ftony heart:
Of all the works thou doft affign,

To all the feveral flaves of thine,

Employ me, mighty Love! to dig the mine.




"'LL on; for what fhould 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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