Mine ingenuity and openness

To Jesuits; to buffoons my pensiveness;
My silence t' any who abroad have been;
My money to a capuchin.

Thou, Love, taugh'st me, by appointing me To love there where no love receiv'd can be, Only to give to such as have no good capacity.

My faith I give to Roman Catholics;
All my good works unto the schismatics
Of Amsterdam; my best civility
And courtship to an university :
My modesty I give to soldiers bare.

My patience let gamesters share.

Thou, Love, taught'st me, by making me Love her, that holds my love disparity, Only to give to those that count my gifts indignity.

I give my reputation to those

Which were my friends; mine industry to foes;
To schoolmen I bequeath my doubtfulness;

My sickness to physicians, or excess;

To Nature all that I in rhyme have writ;
And to my company my wit.

Thou, Love, by making me adore

Her, who begot this love in me before, Taught'st me to make, as though I gave, when I do but restore.

To him, for whom the passing-bell next tolls,
I give my physic books; my written rolls
Of moral counsels I to Bedlam give:
My brazen medals unto them which live

In want of bread; to them, which pass among
All foreigners, mine English tongue.

Thou, Love, by making me love one,
Who thinks her friendship a fit portion
For younger lovers, does my gifts thus dispropor-
tion.

Therefore, I'll give no more, but I'll undo
The world by dying; because Love dies too.
Then all your beauties will be no more worth
Than gold in mines, where none doth draw it forth;
And all your graces no more use shall have,
Than a sun-dial in a grave.

Thou, Love, taught'st me, by making me
Love her, who doth neglect both me and thee,
T' invent and practise this one way, t' annihilate all
three.

THE BLOSSOM.

LITTLE think'st thou, poor flower,
Whom I have watch'd six or seven days,
And seen thy birth, and seen what every hour
Gave to thy growth, thee to this height to raise,
And now dost laugh and triumph on this bough,
Little think'st thou

That it will freeze anon, and that I shall
To-morrow find thee fall'n, or not at all.

Little think'st thou (poor heart,
That labourest yet to nestle thee,
And think'st by hovering here to get a part
In a forbidden or forbidding tree,

And hop'st her stiffness by long siege to bow :)

Little think'st thou,

That thou to-morrow, ere the Sun doth wake,
Must with this Sun and me a journey take.

THE DISSOLUTION.

SHE's dead, and all, which die,
To their first elements resolve;
And we were mutual elements to us,
And made of one another.

My body then doth her's involve,
And those things, whereof I consist, hereby
In me abundant grow and burthenous,
And nourish not, but smother.

My fire of passion, sighs of air,
Water of tears, and earthy sad despair,
Which my materials be,

(But near worn out by love's security,)
She, to my loss, doth by her death repair;
And I might live long wretched so,
But that my fire doth with my fuel grow.
Now as those active kings,

Whose foreign conquest treasure brings,
Receive more, and spend more, and soonest break,
This (which I'm amaz'd that I can speak)
This death hath with my store

My use increas'd.

And so my soul, more earnestly releas'd,
Will outstrip her's: as bullets flown before,

A later bullet may o'ertake, the powder being more.

A JET RING SENT.

THOU art not so black as my heart, Nor half so brittle as her heart thou art; What would'st thou say? shall both our properties by thee be spoke?

Nothing more endless, nothing sooner broke.

Marriage rings are not of this stuff;

Oh! why should aught less precious, or less tough, Figure our loves? except in thy name thou have [away." "I'm cheap, and naught but fashion, fling m'

bid it say,

Yet stay with me, since thou art come, Circle this finger's top, which did'st her thumb : Be justly proud, and gladly safe, that thou dost dwell with me;

[thee. She that, oh! broke her faith, would soon break

EPIGRAMS.

HERO AND LEANDER.

Вотн robb'd of air, we both lie in one ground,
Both whom one fire had burnt, one water drown'd.

PYRAMUS AND THISBE.

Two by themselves each other love and fear,
Slain, cruel friends by parting have join'd here.

PHRINE.

THY flattering picture, Phryne, 's like to thee
Only in this, that you both painted be.

AN OBSCURE WRITER.

PHILO with twelve years study hath been griev'd
To b' understood, when will he be believ'd?

Klockius so deeply hath sworn ne'er more to come
In bawdy house, that he dares not go home.

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