Taught' me to make, as though I gave, when I LITTLE think't thou, poor Flow'r!
Whom I have watch'd fix or feven days, And feen thy birth, and feen what every hour Gave to thy growth, thee to this height to raife, And now doft laugh and triumph on this bough Little think'st thou
That it will freeze anon, and that I fhall To-morrow find thee fall'n, or not at all. Little think'it thou, (poor heart! That laboureft yet to neftle thee, And think'ft by hovering here to get a part In a forbidden or forbidding tree,
And hop'ft her stiffuefs by long fiege to bow); Little think'st thou
That thou to-morrow, ere the fun doth wake, Muft with this fun and me a journey take.
For fhould my true-love less than woman be, She were fcarce any thing; and then, fhould fhe Be more than woman, fhe would get above All thought of fex, and think to move My heart to study her, and not to love:
Both thefe were monfters. Since there must refide
Falsehood in woman, I could more abide She were by Art than Nature falfify’d.
Live, Primrose! then, and thrive With thy true number five;
And women, whom this flower doth reprefent, With this myfterious number be content. Ten is the fartheft number; if half ten Belongs unto each woman, then
Bach woman may take half us men:
Or if this will not ferve their turn, fince all Numbers are odd or even, fince they fall First into five, women may take us all.
WHEN my grave is broke up again, Some fecond guest to entertain,
(For graves have learn'd that woman-head To be to more than one a-bed) And he that digs it fpies
A bracelet of bright hair about the bone, Will he not let us alone,
And think that there a loving couple lies, Who thought that this device might be fome way To make their fouls, at the last busy day, Meet at this grave, and make a little ftay?
If this fall in a time or land
Where mafs-devotion doth command, Then he that digs us up will bring Us to the bishop or the king, To make us relics; then
Thou shalt be a Mary Magdalen, and I A fomething else thereby :
All women fhall adore us, and fome men? And fince at fuch time miracles are fought, I would have that age, by this paper, taught What miracles we harmless lovers wrought.
Firft we lov'd well and faithfully, Yet knew not what we lov'd, nor why: Diff'rence of fex we ne'er knew No more than guardian angels do; Coming and going we
Perchance might kifs, but yet between thofe males
Our hands ne'er toucht the feals
Which Nature, injur'd by late law, fet free; Thefe miracles we did; but now, alas! All measure and all language I should pass, Should I tell what a miracle fhe was.
WHEN I am dead, and doctors know not why, And my friends' curiofity
Will have me cut up, to furvey each part, And they fhall find your picture in mine heart; You think a fudden Damp of love Will through all their fenfes move, And work on them as me, and so prefer Your murder to the name of maffacre.
Poor victories! but if you dare be brave,
And pleasure in the conqueft have, First kill th' enormous giant, your difdain. And let th' enchantress Honour next be faing And, like a Goth or Vandal, rife, Deface records and hiftories
Of your own acts and triumphs over men, And without fuch advantage kill me then.
For I could mufter up, as well as you, My giants and my witches too,
Which are vaft Conftancy and Secretnefs: But thele I neither look for nor profess. Kill me as woman; let me die
As mere man: do you but try
Your paflive valour and you fhall find then, Naked you've odds enough of any man.
SHE's dead! and all which die To their first elements refolve;
And we were mutual elements to us, And made of one another.
My body then doth her's involve,
And thofe things, whereof I confift, hereby In me abundant grow and burdenous, And nourish not, but fmother.
My fire of paffion, fighs of air,
Water of tears, and earthly fad despair, Which my materials be,
(But near worn out by Love's fecurity) She, to my lofs, doth by her death repair; And I might live long wretched fo,
But that my fire doth with my fuel grow. Now as thofe active kings,
Whofe foreign conqueft treasure brings, Receive more, and spend more, and fooneft break; This, (which I am amaz'd that I can speak) This death hath, with my ftore,
I NEVER floop'd fo low as they Which on an eye, cheek, lip, can prey, Seldom to them which foar no higher Than 'virtue or the mind t' admire; For fenfe and understanding may Know what gives fuel to their fire: My love, though filly, is more brave; For may I mifs whene'er I crave, If I know yet what I would have. If that be fimply perfecteft Which can by no means be exprest But negatives, my love is fo; To all which all love I fay No.
If any who deciphers beft,
What we know not (ourfelves) can know,
Let him teach me that nothing: this As yet my cafe and comfort is, Though I fpeed not I cannot mifs,
TAKE heed of loving me,
At least remember I forbade it thee; Not that I fhall repair my unthrifty wafte Of breath and blood upon thy fighs and tears, By being to thee then what to me thou waft; But fo great joy our life at once outwears: Then, left thy love by my death fruftrate be, If thou love me, take heed of loving me.
Take heed of hating me,
Or too much triumph in the victory; Not that I fhall be mine own officer, And hate with hate again retaliate; But thou wilt lofe the tyle of Conqueror Then, left my being nothing leffen thee, If 1, thy conqueft, perish by thy hate: If thou hate me, take heed of hating me.
Yet love and hate me too,
So thefe extremes fhall ne'er their office do; Love me, that I may die the gentler way; Hate me, because thy love's too great for me; Or let thefe two themselves, not me, decay; So fhall I live thy ftage, not triumph be: Then left thy love thou hate and me undo, O let me live, yet love and hate me too!
So, go break off this last lamenting kifs, Which fuch two fouls, and vapours both away, Furn thou, Ghost! that way, and let me turn this And let ourselves benight our happiest day; As afk none leave to love; nor will we owe Any fo cheap a death as faying, Co.
Go; and if that word have not quite kill'd thee Eafe me with death, by bidding me go too;
DEAR LOVE! continue nice and chafte, For if you yield you do me wrong:
Let duller wits to Love's end haste, I have enough to woo thee long.
Along with us, which we ourselves produc'd; But now the fun is just above our head, We do those shadows tread,
And to brave clearness all things are reduc'd. So whilft our infant loves did grow, Difguifes did, and fhadows, flow
From us and our cares; but now 't is not fo.
That love hath not attain'd the high'ft degree, Which is ftill diligent left others fee; Except our loves at this noon stay, We shall new shadows make the other way. As the firft were made to blind
Others, these which come behind
Will work upon ourselves, and blind our eyes. If our love's faint, and weftwardly decline, To me thou falfely thine,
And I to thee mine actions fhall disguise. The morning fhadows wear away, But these grow longer all the day; But, oh! Love's day is fhort, if love decay.
Love is a growing or full conftant light, And his fhort minute, after noon, is night.
SEND me fome Tokens that my hope may live, Or that my easeless thoughts may fleep and reft Send me fome honey to make sweet my hive, That in my paffions I may hope the best.
I beg ner ribband wrought with thy own hands, To knit our loves in the fantastic train Of new toucht youth; nor ring, to fhew the ftand Of our affection, that as that's round and plain So fhould our loves meet in fimplicity; No, nor the corals which thy wrist infold, Lac'd up together in congruity,
To fhew our thoughts fhould reft in the fame hold No, nor thy picture, though most gracious, And most defired, 'caufe 't is like the beft; Nor witty lines, which are moft copious, Within the writings which thou haft addrest. Send me nor this nor that t' increase my score, But fwear thou think'st I love thee, and no more.
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