Me times to come, I know it, shall Love's last and greatest prophet call; But, ah! what's that, if she refuse To hear the wholesome doctrines of my Muse; If to my share the prophet's fate must come-Hereafter fame, here martyrdom?

THE RESOLUTION.

THE Devil take those foolish men
Who gave you first such powers;
We stood on even grounds till then;
If any odds, creation made it ours.

For shame, let these weak chains be broke;
Let's our slight bonds, like Samson, tear;
And nobly cast away that yoke,

Which we nor our forefathers e'er could bear. French laws forbid the female reign;

Yet Love does them to slavery draw: Alas! if we'll our rights maintain, 'Tis all mankind must make a Salique law.

CALLED INCONSTANT.

HA! ha! you think you've kill'd my fame,
By this not understood, yet common, name:
A name that's full and proper, when assign'd
To woman-kind;

But, when you call us so,

It can at best but for a metaphor go.

Can you the shore inconstant call,
Which still, as waves pass by, embraces all;
That had as lief the same waves always love,
Did they not from him move?

Or can you fault with pilots find

For changing course, yet never blame the wind?
Since, drunk with vanity, you fell,
The things turn'd round to you that stedfast
dwell;

And you yourself, who from us take your flight,
Wonder to find us out of sight.

So the same errour seizes you,

As men in motion think the trees move too.

THE WELCOME.

Go, let the fatted calf be kill'd ;
My prodigal 's come home at last,
With noble resolutions fiil'd,

And fill'd with sorrow for the past:
No more will burn with love or wine;
But quite has left his women and his swine.
Welcome, ah! welcome, my poor Heart!
Welcome! I little thought, I'll swear
('Tis now so long since we did part)

Ever again to see thee here:
Dear wanderer! since from me you fled,
How often have I heard that thou wert dead!
Hast thou not found each woman's breast
(The lands where thou hast travelled)
Either by savages possest,

Or wild, and uninhabited?
What joy could'st take, or what repose,
In countries so unciviliz'd as those?

Lust, the scorching dog-star, here
Rages with immoderate heat;
Whilst Pride, the rugged northern bear,
In others makes the cold too great:

And where these are temperate known,
The soil's all barren sand or rocky stone.

When once or twice you chanc'd to view

A rich, well-govern'd heart,

Like China, it admitted you

But to the frontier-part.

From Paradise shut for evermore,

What good is 't that an angel kept the door?
Well fare the pride, and the disdain,

And vanities, with beauty join'd;

I ne'er had seen this heart again,
If any fair-one had been kind:

My dove, but once let loose, I doubt
Would ne'er return, had not the flood been out.

THE HEART FLED AGAIN. FALSE, foolish Heart! didst thou not say That thou would'st never leave me more? Behold! again 'tis fled away,

Fled as far from me as before.

I strove to bring it back again;

I cry'd and hollow'd after it in vain.
Ev'n so the gentle Tyrian dame,

When neither grief nor love prevail,
Saw the dear object of her flame,

Th' ingrateful Trojan, hoist his sail :
Aloud she call'd to him to

y;

The wind bore him and her lost words away.
The doleful Ariadne so,

On the wide shore forsaken stood:
"False Theseus whither dost thou go?",

Afar false Theseus cut the flood. But Bacchus came to her relief; Ab! senseless Heart, to take no rest, Bacchus himself 's too weak to ease my grief.

But travel thus eternally!

Thus to be froz'n in every breast!

And to be scorch'd in every eye! Wandering about like wretched Cain, Thrust-out, ill-us'd, by all, but by none slain! Well, since thou wilt not here remain, I'll e'en to live without thee try; My head shall take the greater pain, And all thy duties shall supply: I can more easily live, I know, Without thee, than without a mistress thou.

WOMEN'S SUPERSTITION.
OR I'm a very dunce, or woman-kind
Is a most unintelligible thing:

I can no sense nor no contexture find,
Nor their loose parts to method bring:
I know not what the learn'd may see,
But they're strange Hebrew things to me.
By customs and traditions they live,
And foolish ceremonies of antique date;
We lovers, new and better doctrines give,
Yet they continue obstinate:

Preach we, Love's prophets, what we will,
Like Jews, they keep their old law still.

Before their mothers' gods they fondly fall,
Vain idol-gods, that have no sense nor mind:
Honour's their Ashtaroth, and Pride their Baal,
The thundering Baal of woman-kind;
With twenty other devils more,
Which they, as we do them, adore.

But then, like men both covetous and devout,
Their costly superstition loth t' omit-
And yet more loth to issue monies out,

At their own charge to furnish it-
To these expensive deities

The hearts of men they sacrifice,

THE SOUL.

SOME dull philosopher--when he hears me say
My soul is from me fled away,

Nor has of late inform'd my body here,
But in another's breast does lie,
That neither is, nor will be, I,

As a form servient and assisting there-
Will cry," Absurd!" and ask me how I live;
And syllogisms against it give.

A curse on all your vain philosophies,

Which on weak Nature's law depend, And know not how to comprehend Love and religion, those eat mysteries! Her body is my ; laugh not at this, For by my life I swear it is.

'Tis that preserves my being and my breath; From that proceeds all that I do,

Nay all my thoughts and speeches too; And separation from it is my death.

ECHO.

share

VOL. VII.

THEY

THE RICH RIVAL.

say you're angry, and rant mightily, Because I love the same as you : Alas! you're very rich, 'tis true;

But, pr'ythee, fool! what's that to love and me?
You 'ave land and money, let that serve;
And know you'ave more by that than you deserve.
When next I see my fair-one, she shall know
How worthless thou art of her bed;
And, wretch! I'll strike thee dumb and dead,
With noble verse not understood by you;

Whilst thy sole rhetoric shall be "Jointure" and "jewels," and " our friends agree."

Poxo' your friends, that doat and domineer;
Lovers are better friends than they;
Let's those in other things obey;
The fates, and stars, and gods, must govern
here.

Vain names of blood! in love let none
Advise with any blood, but with their own.
'Tis that which bids me this bright maid adore;
No other thought bas had access!
Did she now beg, I'd love no less,
And, were she an empress, I should love no more;
Were she as just and true to me,

Ah, simple soul! what would become of thee?

it quite !

Thou bring'st us an estate, yet leav'st us poor,
By clogging it with legacies before!

The joys which we entire should wed,
Come deflower'd virgins to our bed;
Good fortunes without gain imported be,
Such mighty custom's paid to thee.
For joy, like wine, kept close does better taste;
If it take air before, its spirits waste.

Hope! Fortune's cheating lottery! Where for one prize an hundred blanks there be; Fond archer, Hope! who takʼst thy am so far, That still or short or wide thine arrows are!

Thin, empty cloud, which th' eye deceives With shapes that our own fancy gives! A cloud, which gilt and painted now appears, But must drop presently in tears! When thy false beams o'er Reason's light prevail, By ignes fatui for north-stars we sail.

Brother of Fear, more gayly clad! The merrier fool o' th' two, yet quite as mad:

Sire of Repentance! child of fond Desire!
That blow'st the chymics', and the lovers', fire,
Leading them still insensibly' on
By the strange witchcraft of "
anon!"
By thee the one does changing Nature, through
Her endless labyrinths, pursue;
And th' other chases woman, whilst she goes
More ways and turns than hunted Nature knows.

FOR HOPE,

HOPE! of all ills that men endure,
The only cheap and universal cure! [health!
Thou captive's freedom, and thou sick man's
Thou loser's victory, and thou beggar's wealth!

Thou manna, which from Heaven we eat,
To every taste a several meat!

Thou strong retreat! thou sure-entail'd estate,
Which nought has power to alienate!
Thou pleasant, honest flatterer! for none
Flatter unhappy men, but thou alone!

Hope! thou first-fruits of happiness!
Thou gentle dawning of a bright success!
Thou good preparative, without which our joy
Does work too strong, and, whilst it cares, de-
stroy!

Who out of Fortune's reach dost stand,
And art a blessing still in hand!

Whilst thee, her earnest-money, we retain,
We certain are to gain,

Whether she her bargain break, or else fulfil;
Thou only good, not worse for ending ill!

Brother of Faith! 'twixt whom and thee
The joys of Heaven and Earth divided be!
Though Faith be heir, and have the fixt estate,
Thy portion yet in moveables is great,
Happiness itself's all one
In thee, or in possession!
Only the future's thine, the present his!

Chine's the more hard and noble bliss: Best apprehender of our joys! which hast So long a reach, and yet canst hold so fast!

Hope! thou sad lovers' only friend! Thou Way, that may'st dispute it with the End! For love, I fear, 's a fruit that does delight The taste itself less than the smell and sight. Fruition more deceitful is

Than thou canst be, when thou dost miss; Men leave thee by obtaining, and straight flee Some other way again to thee;

And that's a pleasant country, without doubt, To which all soon return that travel out.

LOVE'S INGRATITUDE.

I LITTLE thought, thou fond ingrateful sin! When first I let thee in,

And gave thee but a part

In my unwary heat,

That thou would'st e'er have grown

So false or strong to make it all thine own.

At mine own breast with care I fed thee still,
Letting thee suck thy fill;

And daintily I nourish'd thee
With idle thoughts and poetry!

What ill returns dost thou allow!-
I fed thee then, and thou dost starve me now,
There was a time when thou wast cold and chill
Nor hadst the power of doing ill;
Into my bosom did I take

This frozen and benumbed snake,
Not fearing from it any harm;

But now it stings that breast which made it warm,
What cursed weed's this Love! but one grain sow,
And the whole field 'twill overgrow;
Straight will it choak up and devour
Each wholesome herb and beauteous flower!
Nay, unless something soon I do,
"Twill kill, I fear, my very laurel too.
But now all's gone-I now, alas! complain,
Declare, protest, and threat, in vain;
Since, by my own unforc'd consent,
The traitor has my government,
And is so settled in the throne,
That 'twere rebellion now to claim mine own

THE FRAILTY,

I KNOw 'tis sordid, and 'tis low,
(All this as well as you I know)
Which I so hotly now pursue,
(I know all this as well as you)

But, whilst this cursed flesh I bear,

And all the weakness and the baseness there, Alas! alas! it will be always so.

In vain, exceedingly in vain,

I rage sometimes, and bite my chain;
Yet to what purpose do I bite

With teeth which ne'er will break it quite
For, if the chiefest Christian head
Was by this sturdy tyrant buffeted,
What wonder is it if weak I be slain?

COLDNESS.

As water fluid is, till it do grow

Solid and fixt by cold;

So in warm seasons Love does loosely flow;
Frost only can it hold:

A woman's rigour and disdain
Does his swift course restrain.
Though constant and consistent now it be,
Yet, when kind beams appear,
It melts, and glides apace into the sea,
And loses itself there.

So the Sun's amorous play

Kisses the ice away.

You may in vulgar loves find always this; But my substantial love

Of a more firm and perfect nature is ;

No weathers can it move: Though heat dissolve the ice again, The crystal solid does remain.

ENJOYMENT.

THEN like some wealthy island thou shalt lie, And like the sea about it, I;

Thou, like fair Albion to the sailor's sight,
Spreading her beauteous bosom all in white;
Like the kind Ocean I will be,
With loving arms for ever clasping thee.
But I'll embrace thee gentlier far than so;
As their fresh banks soft rivers do:
Nor shall the proudest planet boast a power
Of making my full love to ebb one hour;
It never dry or low can prove,
Whilst thy unwasted fountain feeds my love.
Such heat and vigour shall our kisses bear,

As if like doves w' engender'd there:
No bound nor rule my pleasures shall endure,
In love there's none too much an epicure:

Nought shall my hands or lips control; I'll kiss thee through, I'll kiss thy very soul. Yet nothing but the Night our sports shall know; Night, that's both blind and silent too! Alpheus found not a more secret trace, His lov'd Sicanian fountain to embrace, Creeping so far beneath the sea, Than I will do t'enjoy and feast on thee. Men, out of wisdom; women, out of pride, The pleasant thefts of love do hide : That may secure thee; but thou 'ast yet from me ▲ more infallible security;

For there's no danger I should tell The joys which are to me unspeakable.

SLEEP.

In vain, thou drowsy god! I thee invoke ; For thou, who dost from fumes ariseThou, who man's soul dost overshade With a thick cloud by vapours made-Canst have no power to shut his eyes,

Or passage of his spirits to choke,
Whose flame's so pure that it sends up no smoke.
Yet how do tears but from such vapours rise?
Tears, that bewinter all my year?

The fate of Egypt I sustain,
And never feel the dew of rain,
From clouds which in the head appear;
But all my too much moisture owe

To overflowings of the heart below.

Thou, who dost men (as nights to colours do)
Bring all to an equality!

Come, thou just god! and equal me
Awhile to my disdainful She:
In that condition let me lie,

Till Love does me the favour shew:
Love equals all a better way than you,
Then never more shalt thou b'invok'd by me;
Watchful as spirits and gods I'll prove;

Let her but grant, and then will I
Thee and thy kinsman Death defy;
For, betwixt thee and them that love,
Never will an agreement be;

Thou scorn'st th' unhappy, and the happy,thee!

BEAUTY.

BEAUTY! thou wild fantastic ape,

Who dost in every country change thy shape!

Here black, there brown, here tawny, and there white;

Thou flatterer! which comply'st with every sight! Thou Babel, which confound'st the eye With unintelligible variety!

Who hast no certain what, nor where; But vary'st still, and dost thyself declare Inconstant, as thy she-professors are.

Beauty! Love's scene and masquerade, So gay by well-plac'd lights and distance made; False coin, with which th'impostor cheats us still; The stamp and colour good, but metal ill!

Which light or base we find, when we
Weigh by enjoyment, and examine thee!
For, though thy being be but show,
'Tis chiefly night which men to thee allow :
And chuse t'enjoy thee, when thou least art Thou.
Beauty! thou active, passive ill!
Which dy'st thyself as fast as thou dost kill!
Thou tulip, who thy stock in paint dost waste,
Neither for physic good, nor smell, nor taste,
Beauty! whose flames but meteors are,
Short-liv'd and low, though thou would'st seem
a star;

Pretending to dwell richly in the eye,
When thou, alas! dost in the fancy lie.

Who dar'st not thine own home descry,

Beauty! whose conquests still are made O'er hearts by cowards kept, or else betray'd; Weak victor! who thyself destroy'd must be When Sickness storms, or Time besieges thee' Thou unwholesome thaw to frozen age! Thou strong wine, which youth's fever dost enrage!

Thou tyrant, which leav'st no man free! Thou subtle thief, from whom nought safe can be! Thou murderer, which hast kill'd, and devil, which would'st damn me!

HERE, take my likeness with you, whilst 'tis so;
For, when from hence you go,
The next Sun's rising will behold
Me pale, and lean, and old:
The man who did this picture draw,
Will swear next day my face he never saw.
I really believe, within a while,

If you upon this shadow smile,
Your presence will such vigour give,
(Your presence, which makes all things
live!)

And absence so much alter me,
This will the substance, I the shadow, be.

THE MONOPOLY.

WHAT mines of sulphur in my breast do lie,
That feed th' eternal burnings of my heart!
Not Etna flames more fierce or constantly,
The sounding shop of Vulcan's smoky art:
Vulcan his shop has placed there.
And Cupid's forge is set-up here.
Here all those arrows' mortal heads are made,
That fly so thick unseen through yielding air;
The Cyclops here, which labour at the trade,
Are Jealousy, Fear, Sadness, and Despair,
Ah, cruel god! and why to me
Gave you this curs'd monopoly?

I have the trouble, not the gains, of it:

And your bright looks awake it,

Ah! be not frighted if you see
The new-soul'd picture gaze on thee,
And hear it breathe a sigh or two;

For those are the first things that it will do.
My rival-image will be then thought blest,
And laugh at me as dispossest;
But thou, who (if I know thee right)
I' th' substance dost not much delight,
Wilt rather send again for me,

Who then shall but my picture's picture bẹ.

THE CONCEALMENT,

No; to what purpose should I speak?

No, wretched heart! swell till you break.
She cannot love me if she would;

And, to say truth, 'twere pity that she should.
No; to the grave thy sorrows bear;
As silent as they will be there :

Since that lov'd hand this mortal wound does give,
So handsomely the thing contrive,
That she may guiltless of it live;
So perish, that her killing thee
May a chance-medley, and no murder, be,

'Tis nobler much for me, that I
By her beauty, not her anger, die:
This will look justly, and become
An execution; that a martyrdom.

The censuring world will ne'er refrain
From judging men by thunder slain.
She must be angry, sure, if I should be
So bold to ask her to make me,
By being her's, happier than she!
I will not; 'tis a milder fate

To fall by her not loving, than her hate.
And yet this death of mine, I fear,
Will ominous to her appear;
When, sound in every other part,
Her sacrifice is found without an heart;
For the last tempest of my death
Shall sigh out that too with my breath.

And then (I'll ask no other benefit)
Heat as you please your furnace in my heart;
So sweet's revenge to me, that I
Upon my foe would gladly die.

Deep into her bosom would I strike the dart,
Deeper than woman e'er was struck by thee;
Thou giv'st them small wounds, and so far from
th' heart,

They flutter still about, inconstantly:

Curse on thy goodness, whom we find
Civil to none but woman-kind!

Vain god! who women dost thyself adore!
Their wounded hearts do still retain the powers
To travel and to wander, as before:

Thy broken arrows 'twixt that sex and ours
So unjustly are distributed,

They take the feathers, we the head,

THE DISTANCE.

I'VE followed thee a year, at least,

And never stopp'd myself to rest;
But yet can thee o'ertake no more
Than this day can the day that went before,
In this our fortunes equal prove

To stars, which govern them above;
Our stars, that move for ever round,
With the same distance still betwixt them found,
In vain, alas! in vain I strive
The wheel of Fate faster to drive;
Since, if around it swiftlier fly,
She in it mends her pace as much as I.

Hearts by Love strangely shuffled are, That there can never meet a pair! Tamelier than worms are lovers slain! The wounded heart ne'er turns to wound again.