The Pembroke Booklets 
 
 (First Series) 
 IV 
 
 Sir John Suckling 
 
 Ballads and other Poems 
 
 Sir Charles Sedley 
 
 Lyrics 
 
 John Wilmot 
 
 (Earl of Rochester) 
 
 Poems and Songs 
 
 ^ 
 
 J. R. Tutin 
 
 Hull 
 1906 
 
 Large Paper Edition, limited to 250 copies
 
 Sir John Suckling 
 
 (1609- 1 642) 
 
 " O Suckling, O gallant Sir John, 
 Thou gentleman poet, first plume of the ton ; 
 Fresh painter of ' Weddings,' great author of rare 
 ' Poet Sessions "... 
 O facile princeps of wit about town.' " 
 
 —Leigh Hunt. 
 
 Sir Charles Sedley 
 
 (i639?-i7oi) 
 
 ' ' In his awn sphere Sedley is unapproachable ; such songs as 
 ' Love still has something of the sea ' or ' Phillis is my only joy ' 
 easily outdistance all rivals." — A. H. Bullen. 
 
 John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester 
 
 (1647- I 680) 
 
 " Pm none of those who think themselves inspir'd. 
 Nor write with the vain hope to be admird. 
 But, from a rule I have (upon long trial), 
 T'avoid with care all sort of self-denial. 
 Which way soe'er desire and fancy lead, 
 Contemning fame, that path I boldly tread." 
 
 — Epistle to Lord Mulgrave.
 
 riRRARY 
 
 U.NTSTRSITV UI CAUFORMA 
 
 SA.NiA J!A[{|{AJ{A 
 
 Contents 
 
 SIR JOHN SUCKLING 
 
 ' ' There never yet was honest man " ( Loving and Beloved) 1 1 
 " Dost see how unregarded now ' (Sonnets — I) . . 12 
 
 " Of thee, kind Boy, I ask no Red and White " 
 
 (Sonnets^II) ...... 12 
 
 " O, for some honest Lover's Ghost ! " (Sonnets — HI) . 13 
 '■ There never yet was Woman made" . . .14 
 
 " If Man might know" . . . . .15 
 
 "Stay here, iond Youth, and ask no more, be wise" 
 
 (Against Fruition) . . . . .15 
 
 "Fie upon Hearts that burn with mutual Fire" (Another 
 
 of the Same, against Fruition) . . .16 
 
 " Love, Reason, Hate did once bespeak " . . 17 
 
 " 'Tis now since I sat down before " . . .18 
 
 "I tell thee, Dick, where I have been" (Ballad on a 
 
 Wedding) ...... 19 
 
 " Honest Lover, whatsoever " . . . .23 
 
 •'Out upon it, I have loved" . . . .24 
 
 •'I will not love one Minute more, I swear" (Love 
 
 turn'd to Hatred) . . . . .25 
 
 " Never believe me it I love" (The Careless Lover) . 25 
 
 "This one Request I make to him that sits the Clouds 
 
 above " (Love and Debt alike Troublesome) . . 26 
 
 "Leaning her Head upon my Breast" (Love's Repre- 
 sentation) ...... 28 
 
 "What! no more Favours? Not a Ribbon more" (To 
 
 a Lady who forbade to love before Company) . 29 
 
 " The crafty Boy that had full oft assay 'd " . .30 
 
 " I prithee send me back my Heart " . . .31 
 
 " I am confirm'd a Woman can " . . .31 
 
 " I prithee spare me, gentle Boy " . . .32 
 
 "When, dearest, I but think of thee " . . -33 
 
 " Hast thou seen the down in the air " . . -33 
 
 "On a still silent Night scarce could I number" (His 
 
 Dream) ...... 34 
 
 " So Misers look upon their Gold " . . -35 
 
 "No, No, fair Heretic, it needs must be" . . 36 
 
 "The little boy, to show his Might and Power" (The 
 
 Metamorphosis) .... 36
 
 Contents 
 
 PACE 
 
 ' I am a man of War and Might" (A Soldier) . . 37 
 
 ' Tell me, ye juster Deities " (The Expostulation) . 37 
 
 ' Whether these Lines do you find out " (To Master 
 
 John Hales of Eton) . . . . .38 
 
 'Why so pale and wan, fond Lover?" . . -39 
 
 'Fill it up, fill it up to the Brink" . . .40 
 
 ' Come, let the State stay " .... 40 
 
 ' She's pretty to walk with " . . . .41 
 
 SIR CHARLES SEDLEY 
 
 " Phillis, Men say that all my Vows" 
 
 " Phillis is my only joy " . 
 
 " Hears not my Phillis how the Birds" 
 
 "Phillis, this early Zeal assuage" (To a Devout Young 
 
 Gentlewoman) .... 
 "I am a lusty lively Lad" (The Extravagant) 
 "Tush! never tell me I'm too young" (The Forward 
 
 Lover) ..... 
 "Ah, Chloris ! that I now could sit " 
 " Love still has something of the Sea " 
 " Fair Aminta, art thou mad? " 
 "Scrape no more your harmless chins" (Advice to the 
 
 Old Beaux) .... 
 " Not, Celia, that I juster am " 
 
 42 
 
 42 
 
 43 
 
 44 
 44 
 
 45 
 46 
 
 47 
 47 
 
 48 
 49 
 
 JOHN WILMOT. EARL OF ROCHESTER 
 
 All my past Life is mine no more " 
 ' What cruel Pains Corinna takes " (To Corinna) 
 ■ Room, Room for a Blade of the Town " 
 ' An Age in her Embraces past " . 
 'The utmost Grace the Greeks could show" (Grecian 
 
 Kindness) ..... 
 ' Love bid me hope, and I obey'd" (Woman's Honour 
 ' How blest was the created State " (The Fall) . 
 ' Give me Leave to rail at you " . 
 "Tis not that I am weary grown" (Upon Leaving hi: 
 
 Mistress) ..... 
 
 ' Absent from thee I languish still " 
 ' Why dost thou shade thy lovely face ? O why " (To his 
 
 Mistress) ..... 
 
 ' My dear Mistress has a Heart " . 
 ' While on those lovely looks I gaze " 
 ' Prithee, now, fond Fool, give o'er " (A Dialogue) 
 'Vulcan, contrive me such a Cup" (Upon drinking 
 
 a Bowl) ..... 
 
 ^Nothing! thou Elder Brother ev'n to Shade" (Upon 
 
 Nothing) ..... 
 
 SO 
 50 
 51 
 51 
 
 53 
 54 
 54 
 55 
 
 55 
 56 
 
 57 
 58 
 58 
 59 
 
 61 
 
 62
 
 Preface 
 
 Sir John Suckling, son of a knight of the same name 
 was born at Twickenham in February, 1608-9 
 Aubrey says of the father, who held various offices 
 under the Crown, that he was but a dull fellow, and 
 that the poet derived his wit from his mother. It is 
 quite uncertain where he went to school, but in 1623 
 he entered Trinity College, Oxford, where he showed 
 facility in learning languages and music. The elder 
 Sir John died in 1627, and John took over his estates. 
 Some travel abroad in 1628 was followed by a travel- 
 ling of a more stirring kind in 1631, when he joined the 
 Marquis of Hamilton's expedition, which sailed from 
 Yarmouth, and took part in several battles and sieges, 
 including that of Magdeburg. Suckling is said to 
 have behaved well as a soldier, and spoke of himself 
 as one in a poem of his.^ He probably returned to 
 England in 1633, and was soon in the swim and a 
 leading figure at Court. His nimble tongue had many 
 opportunities of exercise ; he was. Sir W. Davenant 
 tells us, baited like a bull : "his repartee and witt 
 being most sparkling when most set on and provok'd." 
 Of the level of his table-talk we can conjecture from 
 his letters and, still more, from his verses. There is 
 no doubt that it was brilliant, and in a Court of 
 taste and refinement like Charles I.'s it meant a social 
 triumph. Winstanley calls him "the darling of the 
 Court." 
 
 As his poetry would suggest. Suckling was a great 
 entertainer of the ladies, and never sent them away 
 from his parties without costly gifts of silk stockings, 
 jewelled garters, and gloves. But he had another and 
 
 1 See p. 37. 
 
 5
 
 Preface 
 
 a less attractive hobby, that of gaming, and is said 
 to have been reputed the best bowler and cardplayer 
 in the kingdom. As he himself confesses in his 
 " Sessions of the Poets " — 
 
 "Suckling next was called, but did not appear, 
 But straight one whisper'd Apollo i' th' ear, 
 That of all men living he cared not for 't, 
 He loved not the Muses so well as his sport." 
 
 One day his poor sisters came to the Piccadilly bowl- 
 ing-green, " crying for the fear he should lose all their 
 fortunes." To show his elasticity of spirit, we are told 
 that, when at his lowest ebb, he would put on his most 
 glorious apparel. It may be questioned, however, if all 
 the tall stories told of his extremes of good and ill 
 fortune are true. In a romancing age like the Caroline 
 any prominent person soon acquired his legend, and 
 Suckling's large estates must have been a main- 
 stay. 
 
 Suckling no doubt had many passing affaires de 
 cceur (" Out upon it, I have loved Three whole days to- 
 gether"), but one courtship was serious, that of the 
 daughter of SiR Henry Willoughby, who was a 
 great heiress. As a letter which recently came to light 
 at Clifton Hall, Notts, clearly proves,^ the king used 
 his influence in pushing the match, but unfortunately 
 the lady herself did not agree, like a loyal subject, to 
 accept his Majesty's favourite. To this passive resist- 
 ance she added active, that is to say she asked an- 
 other of her suitors to waylay SUCKLING and extort 
 from him an engagement renouncing his attempts on 
 her. This the suitor (DiGBV, a brother of SIR 
 Kenelm's) did, with some allies, and poor SUCKLING 
 received a sound drubbing. The affair caused great 
 scandal, and, not having drawn sword, SUCKLING was 
 accused of cowardice, and for some time was under a 
 cloud socially. In 1637 came "The Sessions of the 
 Poets," in which there is a good deal of hard hitting 
 (sometimes in bad taste, as in Davenant's case) and 
 
 1 See Daily Chronicle, August 24th, 1905, and a note by the 
 present writer, August 25th. 
 
 6
 
 Preface 
 
 acute criticism. I have already quoted the stanza in 
 which he treats himself as severely as the others. In 
 1638 was produced Aglaura^ said to be the first play 
 acted with scenery, and Brennoralt the following year. 
 Suckling's part in the Scottish war may have lacked 
 distinction, but Sir John Mennis's celebrated ballad 
 is obviously spiteful. 
 
 It would take too long to trace the political intrigues in 
 which Suckling and the other " Staffordians" engaged 
 to strengthen the King's power, and which compelled 
 him, in order to escape a trial for high treason, to 
 make a hurried departure for France. There are 
 many stories of his life in exile — most of them pro- 
 bably false. One relates his having been in the clutches 
 of the Spanish Inquisition. There are at least two 
 accounts of his death : one that he was murdered by 
 his valet putting a razor in his boot ; the second — un- 
 happily, it seems, the true one — that he poisoned him- 
 self His death occurred at Paris in May or June 
 1642. 
 
 The briefest and perhaps the most satisfactory 
 criticism ever passed on him is that of Mistress 
 Millamant in The Way of the Worlds " natural, easy 
 Suckling." With a woman's intuition she at once 
 perceives the two charms of his verse. When one 
 thinks of the laboured love poetry, metaphysical and 
 other, then being produced in great quantities, we may 
 be thankful for " natural, easy Suckling," who had no 
 affectation of simulating profundity by obscurity and 
 crabbedness. Of course his poetry is superficial, but 
 it shares that defect with beauty, which, we are always 
 being told, is but skin-deep. But if he does not give 
 us great thoughts, he always affords us entertainment, 
 and a world without entertaintment would be a dull 
 place. He is singularly happy in the coinage of a 
 phrase or a simile : it sticks in the memory : — 
 
 " Women enjoy'd (whate'er before t' have been) 
 Are like romances read or sights once seen." 
 
 " Love's a camelion that lives on mere air, 
 And surfeits when it comes to grosser fare." 
 
 7
 
 Preface 
 
 " Thinking on thee, thy beauties then, 
 As sudden lights do sleeping men. 
 So they by their bright rays awake me." 
 
 " 'Tis Expectation makes a blessing dear, 
 Heaven were not Heaven, if we knew what it were." 
 
 Though some great poets have had no ear for music 
 — Tennyson, I believe, was one — Suck ling's musical 
 gifts gave him an excellent mastery of rhythm ; it 
 were hard to find in him a single jarring line "out of 
 tune and harsh." And then how wide his range of 
 subject and treatment, how flexible his manner ! Like 
 Nanki-Poo in TJie Mikado he might have sung — 
 
 " My catalogue is long, 
 
 Through every passion ranging, 
 And to your humour changing 
 I tune my supple song." 
 
 The other two singers who contribute to this collection 
 are, it must be said, somewhat monotonous both in 
 subject and expression, though neither is lacking in 
 wit and humour. 
 
 Let us now pass to one of these, SiR Charles 
 Sedley, another of the seventeenth - century fine 
 gentlemen who wrote with ease in the intervals 
 between wenching, gaming, and drinking. He was 
 born at Aylesford, Kent, about 1639, and went to 
 Wadham College, Oxford, in 1655. After the Restora- 
 tion he was elected (if the word can be used of what 
 was probably a mere nomination) for New Romney. 
 But he took little heed of senatorial dignity — such as it 
 is — and his life was exactly like that of the other two 
 poets of this volume, one of " wine, women, and song." 
 We need not grumble : we may grant him the first 
 two ingredients of his life, for we of to-day have the 
 third for our delectation. Sedley, as is well known, 
 was an actor in that scandalous scene at the Cock 
 Tavern in Bow Street, in which some of the tipsy 
 crew appeared on the balcony in a state of nature, 
 and harangued the i^nobile vulgus in the street below. 
 That lark cost him a cool five hundred, and Chief- 
 JUSTICE Foster improved the occasion by observing
 
 Preface 
 
 that it was for Sedley "and such wicked rascals 
 as he was that God's anger and judgment hung over 
 us." Alas for poor Sedley ! history records but few 
 of his good deeds, which is a way with that uncharit- 
 able Muse. In Pepys (Feb. 1669) we find the irate 
 poet thrashing Kynaston, an actor who had the 
 impudence to mimic him in face, voice, and dress on 
 the stage. He married a daughter of the Earl OF 
 Rivers, and his own daughter achieved the distinc- 
 tion of being the UUKE of York's favourite mistress. 
 As his Royal Highness was said to prefer his wenches 
 plain, this may not be saying much for the lady's 
 beauty, but any how he made her Countess OF 
 Dorchester. Sedley's sporting career came to an 
 end in a place of sport ; his skull was fractured by the 
 fall of the tennis court in the Haymarket. 
 
 He was a true singer, only a singer of trifles, 
 however ; his happiest efforts were inspired by a 
 young lady called Phillis — only fifteen years old, if we 
 are to believe one of his songs — and " Phillis is my 
 only joy," wedded to a charming tune, bids fair to be 
 immortal. How racy too his advice to her in her 
 pious days : — 
 
 ' ' 'Tis early to begin to fear 
 The Devil at fifteen." 
 
 Charles II. is said to have told him that nature 
 had given him a patent to be Apollo's viceroy. His 
 Majesty's repute for never saying a foolish thing is 
 somewhat impaired by this remark. 
 
 John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester, has long 
 been regarded as a sort of awful example in company 
 with other notorious historical characters, like Blue 
 Beard, Captain Kidd, Alexander the Sixth, and the 
 late Mr Charles Peace. He has had a worse fate 
 still : he has been used for purposes of edification and 
 put into penny tracts to turn the erring from their 
 smful ways ; for he rashly let himself be converted 
 towards the end of his life, and thus spoiled a high 
 reputation for consistency. I can only briefly trace 
 his career. Born 1647, he was at Wadham, Oxford, 
 thereafter travelled in France, smelt powder in the 
 9
 
 Preface 
 
 attack on the Dutch fleet at Bergen, and returned to 
 England to haunt the Court and alternately charm and 
 infuriate the King. Gram MONT records that at least 
 once in each year he was sent packing, and, consider- 
 ing some unprintable epigrams on Charles, which no 
 doubt reached their subject's ears, this is not surpris- 
 ing. He had a queer, mad life of it, always (when 
 sober enough) in some outlandish escapade. Once 
 he set up as a quack doctor with a booth on Tower 
 Hill ; at another— so St. Evremond tells us— he 
 and a bird of a feather, the Duke ok Buckingham, 
 took an inn on the Newmarket road, with a view 
 to debauching all the women of the neighbourhood, 
 a purpose which they are said to have achieved. He 
 thought to repair his broken fortunes by a rich match, 
 but the lady of his choice, Elizabeth Malet, was 
 not agreeable, so (in 1665) he waylaid her at Charing 
 Cross, popped her into a coach, and was at Uxbridge 
 before he was caught. This landed him in the Tower 
 of London, but he was soon pardoned, and, curiously 
 enough, married his victim a couple of years later. 
 His known mistresses include Elizabeth Barry, 
 whom he taught to act and put on the stage. His health 
 broke down in 1679, and thenceforth he led a quieter 
 life. There seems no doubt he was convinced of the 
 error of his ways by BiSHOP BURNETT. He had a 
 fine lyric gift, and, though there is little enough 
 sincerity in most of his love-songs, and he attains a 
 cynical extreme in one in which he hails his mistress 
 as worthy to serve all mankind, there is one poem, 
 beginning " Why dost thou shade thy lovely face ? O 
 why," which suggests an almost passionate devotion. 
 Had Rochester criticised himself as acutely as he 
 criticised others, in his satires, he might have been a 
 better man. The only one of his long poems I have 
 included is that on " Nothing," which is ingenious in 
 its way. 
 
 WILLIAM G. HUTCHISON.
 
 Sir John Suckling 
 Loving and Beloved 
 
 There never yet was honest Man 
 That ever drove the Trade of Love ; 
 
 It is impossible, nor can 
 
 Integrity our Ends promove ; 
 
 For Kings and Lovers are alike in this, 
 
 That their chief Art in Reign Dissembling is. 
 
 Here we are loved and there we love, 
 Good Nature now and Passion strive 
 
 Which of the two should be above, 
 And Laws unto the other give : 
 
 So we false Fire with Art sometimes discover. 
 
 And the true Fire with the same Art do cover. 
 
 What Rack can Fancy find so high ? 
 
 Here we must court and here engage ; 
 Though in the other Place we die. 
 
 Oh, 'tis Torture all, and Cosenage ! 
 And which the harder is, I cannot tell, 
 To hide true Love, or make false Love look well. 
 
 Since it is thus, God of Desire, 
 
 Give me my Honesty again. 
 And take thy Brands back and thy Fire ; 
 
 I am weary of the state I am in : 
 Since (if the very best should now befall), 
 Love's Triumph must be Honour's Funeral. 
 II
 
 Sir John Suckling 
 Sonnets 
 
 Dost see how unregarded now 
 
 That Piece of F^eauty passes ? 
 There was a Time when I did vow 
 To that alone ; 
 
 But mark the Fate of Faces ; 
 The Red and White works now no more on me, 
 Than if it could not charm, or I not see. 
 
 And yet the Face continues good, 
 
 And I have still Desires, 
 And still the self-same Flesh and Blood, 
 As apt to melt 
 
 And suffer from those Fires ; 
 O some kind Power unriddle where it lies — 
 Whether my Heart be faulty or her Eyes. 
 
 She every Day her Man does kill, 
 
 And I as often die ; 
 Neither her Power, then, nor my Will 
 Can question'd be ; 
 
 What is the mystery ? 
 Sure, Beauty's Empires, like to greater States, 
 Have certain Periods set, and hidden Fates. 
 
 Of thee, kind Boy, I ask no Red and White 
 
 To make up my Delight : 
 
 No odd becoming Graces, 
 Black Eyes or little Know-not-whats in Faces ; 
 Make me but mad enough, give me good Store 
 
 Of Love for her I court — 
 
 1 ask no more, 
 'Tis Love in Love that makes the Sport. 
 
 12
 
 Sir John Suckling 
 
 There's no such Thing as that we Beauty call 
 
 It is mere Cosenage all ; 
 
 For though some long ago 
 Like t' certain Colours mingled so and so, 
 That doth not tie me now from choosing new, 
 
 If I a Fancy take 
 
 To Black and Blue, 
 That Fancy doth it Beauty make. 
 
 'Tis not the Meat, but 'tis the Appetite 
 
 Makes Eating a Delight, 
 
 And if I like one Dish 
 More than another, that a Pheasant is ; 
 What in our Watches, that in us is found ; 
 
 So to the Height and Nick 
 
 We up be wound. 
 No matter by what Hand or Trick. 
 
 Ill 
 
 O, for some honest Lover's Ghost, 
 
 Some kind, unbodied Post 
 
 Sent from the Shades below ! 
 
 I strangely long to know. 
 Whether the nobler chaplets wear 
 Those that their Mistress' scorn did bear, 
 
 Or those that were used kindly. 
 
 For whatsoe'er they tell us here 
 
 To make those sufferings dear 
 
 'Twill there, I fear, be found 
 
 That to the being crown'd. 
 To have loved alone will not suffice, 
 Unless we also have been wise, 
 
 And have our Loves enjoy 'd. 
 
 What Posture can we think him in 
 That here, unloved again, 
 Departs and's thither gone. 
 Where each sits by his own ? 
 
 13
 
 Sir John Suckling 
 
 Or how can that Elysium be 
 Where I my Mistress still must see 
 Circled in others' Arms ? 
 
 For there the Judges all are just, 
 
 And Sophonisba must 
 
 Be his whom she held dear, 
 
 Not his who loved her here. 
 The sweet Philoclea, since she died. 
 Lies by her Pirocles his side, 
 
 Not by Amphialus. 
 
 Some Bays, perchance, or Myrtle Bough, 
 For difference crowns the Brow 
 Of those kind souls that were 
 The noble Martyrs here ; 
 And if that be the only Odds, 
 (As who can Tell?) ye kinder Gods, 
 Give me the Woman here. 
 
 There never yet was Woman made, 
 
 Nor shall, but to be cursed. 
 And O ! that I, fond I, should first 
 
 Of any Lover 
 This Truth at my Own Charge to other Fools discover ! 
 
 You that have promised to yourselves 
 
 Propriety in Love, 
 Know Women's Hearts like Straw do move ; 
 
 And what we call 
 Their Sympathy is but Love to get in general. 
 
 All Mankind are alike to them, 
 
 And though we Iron find 
 That never with a Loadstone joined, 
 
 'Tis not the Iron's Fault, 
 It is because near the Loadstone yet it was never 
 brought. 
 
 14
 
 Sir John Suckling 
 
 If where a gentle Bee hath fallen, 
 
 And labour'd to his Power, 
 A new succeeds not to that Flow'r, 
 
 But passes by, 
 'Tis to be thought, the Gallant elsewhere loads his 
 Thigh. 
 
 For still the Flowers ready stand, 
 
 One buzzes round about, 
 One lights, one tastes, gets in, gets out ; 
 
 All always use them, 
 Till all their sweets are gone, and all again refuse them. 
 
 Scire se liceret qucs debes subire 
 Et non subire, pulchrum est scire 
 Sed si subire debes qucE debes scir e 
 Quersutn vis scire, nam debes subir 
 
 If Man might know 
 
 The 111 he must undergo, 
 
 And shun it so, 
 
 Then it were good to know 
 But if he undergo it. 
 Though he know it, 
 What boots him know it 
 He must undergo it. 
 
 Against Fruition 
 
 Stay here, fond Youth, and ask no more, be wise : 
 Knowinji too much lung since lost Paradise. 
 The virtuous Joys thou hast, thou would'st should still 
 Labt in tneir Pride ; and wouhi'st not take it ill 
 If rudely trom swert Dreams (and for a Toy) 
 Thou wert aw<ik'd ? He wakes himself that does 
 enjoy. 
 
 15
 
 Sir John Suckling 
 
 Fruition adds no new Wealth, but destroys, 
 And, while it pleaseth much the Palate, cloys ; 
 Who thinks he shall be happier for that 
 As reasonably might hope he might grow fat 
 By eating to a Surfeit ; this once past, 
 What relishes ? even Kisses lose their Taste. 
 
 Urge not 'tis necessary, alas ! we know 
 
 The homeliest Thing which Mankind does is so ; 
 
 The World is of a vast Extent, we see. 
 
 And must be peopled ; children there must be ; 
 
 So must Bread too ; but since there are enough 
 
 Born to the Drudgery, what need we plough ? 
 
 Women enjoy'd (whate'er before t' have been) 
 Are like Romances read, or Sights once seen ; 
 Fruition's dull, and spoils the Play much more, 
 Than if one read or knew the Plot before ; 
 'Tis Expectation makes a Blessing dear. 
 Heaven were not Heaven if we knew what it were. 
 
 And as in Prospects we are there pleased most 
 Where something keeps the Eye from being lost. 
 And leaves us Room to guess ; so here Restraint 
 Holds up Delight that with Excess would faint. 
 They who know all the Wealth they have are poor, 
 He's only rich that cannot tell his Store. 
 
 Another of the Same, 
 against Fruition 
 
 Fie upon Hearts that burn with mutual Fire : 
 I hate two Minds that breathe but one Desire 
 Were I to curse th' unhallowed sort of Men, 
 I'd wish them to love and be lov'd again. 
 Love's a Camelion, that lives on mere Air ; 
 And surfeits when it comes to grosser Fare : 
 i6
 
 Sir John Suckling 
 
 'Tis petty Jealousies and little Fears, 
 
 Hopes join'd with Doubts, and Joys with April Tears, 
 
 That crowns our Love with Pleasures : these are 
 
 gone 
 When once we come to full fruition. 
 Like waking in a Morning when all Night 
 Our Fancy hath been fed with true Delight. 
 Oh ! what a Stroke 'twould be ! sure I should die, 
 Should I but hear my Mistress once say ay. 
 That Monster Expectation feeds too high 
 For any Woman e'er to satisfy : 
 And no brave Spirit ever cared for that 
 Which in down Beds with Ease he could come at ; 
 She's but an honest Whore that yields, although 
 She be as cold as Ice, as pure as Snow : 
 He that enjoys her hath no more to say, 
 But keeps us fasting, if you'll have us pray. 
 Then, fairest Mistress, hold the Power you have 
 By still denying what we still do crave : 
 In keeping us in Hopes strange Things to see 
 That never were, nor are, nor e'er shall be. 
 
 Love, Reason, Hate did once bespeak 
 
 Three Mates to play at Barley-break. 
 
 Love Folly took, and Reason Fancy ; 
 
 And Hate consorts with Pride ; so dance they. 
 
 Love coupled last, and so it fell 
 
 That Love and Folly were in Hell. 
 
 They break, and Love would Reason meet. 
 But Hate was nimbler on her feet : 
 Fancy looks for Pride and whither 
 Hies, and they two hug together. 
 Yet this new coupling still doth tell 
 That Love and Folly were in Hell. 
 
 The rest do break again, and Pride 
 Hath now got Reason on her side ; 
 P.* B 17
 
 Sir John Suckling 
 
 H.ite and Fancy meet, and stand 
 Untouch'd by Love in Folly's hand 
 Folly was dull, but Love ran well, 
 So Love and Folly were in Hell. 
 
 'Tis now since I sat down before 
 
 That foolish Fort a Heart, 
 (Time strangely spent) a Year and more. 
 
 And still I did my Part. 
 
 Made my Approaches, from her Hand, 
 
 Unto her Lip did rise. 
 And did already understand 
 
 The Language of her Eyes. 
 
 Proceeded on with no less Art, 
 
 My Tongue was Engineer ; 
 I thought to undermine the Heart 
 
 By whispering in the Ear. 
 
 When this did Nothing, I brought down 
 Great cannon-oaths, and shot 
 
 A thousand thousand to the Town, 
 And still it yielded not. 
 
 I then resolv'd to starve the Place 
 
 By cutting off all kisses, 
 Praying and gazing in her Face, 
 
 And all such little lilisses. 
 
 To draw her out, and from her Strength, 
 
 I drew all Batteries in. 
 And brought myself to lie at length 
 
 As if no siege had been. 
 
 When I had done what Man could do, 
 And thought the Place mine own. 
 
 The Enemy lay quiet too 
 And smiled at all was done.
 
 Sir John Suckling 
 
 I sent to know from whence and where 
 
 These Hopes and this Relief? 
 A Spy inform'd, Honour was there 
 
 And did command in Chief 
 
 March, march, quoth I, the Word straight give, 
 Let's lose no Time but leave her ; 
 
 That Grant upon Air will live, 
 And hold it out for ever. 
 
 To such a Place our Camp remove, 
 
 As will no Siege abide ; 
 I hate a Fool that starves her Love, 
 
 Only to feed her Pride. 
 
 Ballad on a Wedding 
 
 I TELL thee, Dick, where I have been. 
 Where I the rarest Things have seen, 
 
 O, Things without Compare ! 
 Such Sights again cannot be found 
 In any Place on English Ground, 
 
 Be it at Wake or Fair. 
 
 At Charing Cross, hard by the Way 
 Where we (thou know'st) do sell our Hay 
 
 There is a House with Stairs ; 
 And there did I see coming down 
 Such Folk as are not in our Town, 
 
 Forty, at least, in Pairs. 
 
 Amongst the rest one pest'lent fine 
 (His Beard no bigger though than thine) 
 
 Walk'd on before the Best ; 
 Our Landlord looks like nothing to him 
 The King ((^od bless him !) 'twould undo him 
 
 Should he go still so drest. 
 
 19
 
 Sir John Suckling- 
 
 At Course-a-Park, without all Doubt 
 He should have first been taken out 
 
 By all the Maids i' th' Town : 
 Though lusty Roger there had been, 
 Or Little George upon the Green, 
 
 Or Vincent of the Crown. 
 
 But wot you what ? the Youth was going 
 To make an End of all the wooing ; 
 
 The Parson for him stay'd ; 
 Yet by his Leave (for all his Haste) 
 He did not so much wish all past 
 
 (Perchance) as did the Maid. 
 
 The Maid, (and thereby hangs a Tale), 
 For such a Maid no Whitsun Ale 
 
 Could ever yet produce : 
 No Grape, that's kindly ripe, could be 
 So round, so plump, so soft as she, 
 
 Nor half so full of Juice. 
 
 Her Finger was so small, the Ring 
 Would not stay on, which they did bring, 
 
 It was too wide a Peck, 
 And, to say Truth, (for out it must), 
 It looked like the great Collar just 
 
 About our young colt's Neck. 
 
 Her Feet beneath her Petticoat, 
 Like little Mice, stole in and out. 
 
 As if they fear'd the Light ; 
 But O ! she dances such a Way, 
 No Sun upon an Easter-day 
 
 Is half so fine a Sight. 
 
 He would have kissed her once or twice 
 But she would not, she was so nice. 
 
 She would not do't in Sight, 
 And then she look'd as who should say : 
 I will do what I list to-day 
 
 And you shall do't at Night. 
 20
 
 Sir John Suckling 
 
 Her Cheeks so rare a White was on, 
 No Daisy makes Comparison, 
 
 (Who sees them is undone), 
 For Streaks of Red were mingled there 
 Such as are on a Catherine Pear, 
 
 (The Side that's next the Sun). 
 
 Her Lips were Red and one was thin 
 Compafd to that was next her Chin 
 
 (Some Bee had stung it newly) 
 But, Dick, her Eyes so guard her Face, 
 I durst no more upon them gaze 
 
 Than on the Sun in July. 
 
 Her Mouth so small, when she does speak, 
 Thou'dst swear her Teeth her Words did break. 
 
 That they might Passage get. 
 But she so handled still the Matter, 
 They came as good as ours, or better. 
 
 And are not spent a Whit. 
 
 If Wishing should be any Sin, 
 The Parson himself had guilty been 
 
 (She looked that Day so purely) ; 
 And did the Youth so oft the Feat 
 At Night, as some did in concert. 
 
 It would have spoil'd him surely. 
 
 Just in the Nick the Cook knocked thrice. 
 And all the Waiters in a trice 
 
 His Summons did obey ; 
 Each Serving-man, with Dish in Hand 
 March'd boldly up like our train'd Band, 
 
 Presented and away. 
 
 When all the Meat was on the Table 
 What Man of Knife or Teeth was able 
 
 To stay to be intreated ? 
 And this the very Reason was : 
 Before the Parson could say Grace, 
 
 The Company was seated.
 
 Sir John Suckling 
 
 The Business of the Kitchen's great 
 For it is fit that Men should eat ; 
 
 Nor was it there deny'd ; 
 Passion o' me, how I run on ! 
 There's that that would be thought upon 
 
 (I trow) beside the Bride. 
 
 Now Hats fly off and Youths carouse, 
 Healths first go round and then the House, 
 
 The Bride's came thick and thick : 
 And when 'twas nam'd another's Health, 
 Perhaps he made it hers by stealth, 
 
 And who could help it, Dick? 
 
 On the sudden up, they rise and dance ; 
 Then sit again and sigh and glance, 
 
 Then dance again and kiss : 
 Thus several Ways the Time did pass 
 Whil'st ev'ry Woman wish'd her place 
 
 And ev'ry Man wish'd his. 
 
 By this Time all were stolen aside, 
 To counsel and undress the Bride ; 
 
 But that he must not know, 
 But yet 'twas thought he guess'd her Mind, 
 And did not mean to stay behind 
 
 Above an Hour or so. 
 
 When he came in, Dick, there she lay 
 Like new fall'n snow melting away, 
 
 ('Twas Time, I trow, to part) 
 Kisses were now the only Stay 
 Which soon she gave as who would say 
 
 God b' w" y' ! with all my Heart. 
 
 But just as Heav'n would have to cross it 
 In came the Bride with the Posset : 
 
 The Bridegroom ate in spite. 
 For, had he left the Women to't, 
 It would have cost two Hours to do't, 
 
 Which were too much that Night. 
 
 22
 
 Sir John Suckling 
 
 At length the candle's out, and now 
 All that they had not done they do : 
 
 What that is who can tell? 
 But I believe it was no more 
 Than thou and I have done before 
 
 With Bridget and with Nell. 
 
 Honest Lover, whatsoever, 
 If in all thy Love there ever 
 Was one wav'ring Thought, if thy Flame 
 Were not still even, still the same : 
 Know this. 
 
 Thou lov'st amiss. 
 
 And, to love true, 
 Thou must begin again, and love anew. 
 
 If when she appears i' th' Room, 
 Thou dost not quake and are struck dumb, 
 And in striving this to cover, 
 Dost not speak thy Words twice over. 
 Know this. 
 
 Thou lov'st amiss, 
 
 And to love true 
 Thou must begin again, and love anew. 
 
 If fondly thou dost not mistake, 
 And all Defects for Graces take, 
 Persuad'st thyself that Jests are broken. 
 When she has Little or Nothing spoken, 
 Know this. 
 
 Thou lov'st amiss. 
 
 And to love true 
 Thou must begin again and love anew. 
 
 If when thou appear'st to be within. 
 Thou let'st Men ask and ask again ; 
 And when thou answerest, if it be, 
 To what was asked thee, properly, 
 
 23
 
 Sir John Suckling 
 
 Know this, 
 Thou lov'st amiss, 
 And to love true 
 Thou must begin and love anew. 
 
 If when thy Stomach calls to eat, 
 Thou cutt'st not Fingers 'stead of Meat, 
 And with much gazing on her Face 
 Dost not rise hungry from the Place, 
 Know this. 
 
 Thou lov'st amiss, 
 
 And, to love true. 
 Thou must begin again and love anew. 
 
 If by this thou dost discover 
 That thou art no perfect Lover, 
 And, desiring to love true, 
 Thou dost begin to love anew : 
 Know this. 
 
 Thou lov'st amiss, 
 
 And, to love true. 
 Thou must begin again and love anew. 
 
 Out upon it, I have loved 
 Three whole Days together ; 
 
 And am like to love three more, 
 If it prove fair Weather. 
 
 Time shall moult away his Wings, 
 
 Ere he shall discover 
 In the whole wide World again 
 
 Such a constant Lover. 
 
 But the Spite on't, is, no Praise 
 
 Is due at all to me : 
 Love with me had made no Stays, 
 
 Had it any been but she. 
 
 24
 
 Sir John Suckling 
 
 Had it any been but she, 
 
 And that very Face, 
 There had been at least ere this 
 
 A dozen dozen in her Place. 
 
 Love turn'd to Hatred 
 
 I WILL not love one Minute more, I swear, 
 No, not a Minute ; nor a Sigh or Tear 
 Thou gett'st from me, or one kind look again. 
 Though thou should'st court me to't, and would'st 
 
 begin. 
 I will not think of thee, but as Men do 
 Of Debts and Sins, and then I'll curse thee too. 
 For thy sake Women shall be now to me 
 Less welcome than as Midnight Ghosts shall be : 
 I'll hate so perfectly, that it shall be 
 Treason to love that Man that loves a she ; 
 Nay, I will hate the very Good, I swear, 
 That's in thy Sex, because it doth lie there ; 
 Their very virtue, Grace, Discourse and Wit, 
 And all for thee ; what, wilt thou love me yet ? 
 
 The Careless Lover 
 
 Never believe me if I love. 
 
 Or know what 'tis, or mean to prove ; 
 
 And yet in Faith, I lie, I do, 
 
 And she's extremely handsome too, 
 
 She's fair, she's wondrous fair. 
 
 But I care not who know it : 
 
 Ere I'll die for Love, I'll fairly forego it. 
 
 This Heat of Hope or Cold or Fear 
 My foolish Heart could never bear : 
 
 25
 
 Sir John Suckling 
 
 One Sigh imprison'd ruins more 
 Than Earthquakes have done heretofore 
 She's fair, etc. 
 
 When I am hungry, I do eat 
 And cut no Fingers 'stead of meat-; 
 Nor, with much Gazing on her Face 
 Do e'er rise hungry from the Place. 
 She's fair, etc. 
 
 A gentle Round fill'd to the Brink 
 To this and t'other Friend I drink ; 
 And when 'tis nam'd anothei-'s Health, 
 I never make it hers by Stealth. 
 She's fair, etc. 
 
 Blackfriars to me and old Whitehall 
 Is even as much as is the Fall 
 Of Fountains on a pathless Grove, 
 And nourishes as much my Love. 
 She's fair, etc. 
 
 I visit, talk, do Business, play, 
 And, for a need, laugh out a Day : 
 Who does not thus in Cupid's school, 
 He makes not Love, but plays the Fool. 
 She's fair, etc. 
 
 Love and Debt alike 
 Troublesome 
 
 This one Request I make to him that sits the Clouds 
 
 above. 
 That I were freely out of Debt, as I am out of Love ; 
 Then for to dance, to drink and sing, I should be very 
 
 willing, 
 I should not owe a Lass a Kiss, nor ne'er a Knave a 
 
 Shilling. 
 
 26
 
 Sir John Suckling 
 
 'Tis only being in Love and Debt that breaks us of 
 
 our Rest, 
 And he that is quite out of both, of all the World is 
 
 blest : 
 He sees the Golden Age, wherein all Things were 
 
 free and common, 
 He eats, he drinks, he takes his Rest, he fears no Man 
 
 or Woman. 
 Though Croesus compassed great Wealth, yet he still 
 
 craved more, 
 He was as needy a Beggar still, as goes from Door to 
 
 Door. 
 Though Ovid were a merry Man, Love ever kept him 
 
 sad, 
 He was as far from Happiness as one that is stark 
 
 mad. 
 Our Merchant, he in Goods is rich, and full of Gold 
 
 and Treasure, 
 But when he thinks upon his Debts, that Thought de- 
 stroys his Pleasure. 
 Our Courtier thinks that he's preferr'd, whom every 
 
 Man envies ; 
 When Love so rumbles in his Pate, no Sleep comes in 
 
 his Eyes. 
 Our Gallant's Case is worst of all, he lies so just be- 
 twixt them, 
 P'or he's in Love and he's in Debt, and knows not 
 
 which most vex'th him. 
 But he that can eat Beef and feed on Bread which is 
 
 so brown, 
 May satisfy his Appetite, and owe no man a Crown : 
 And he that is content with Lasses clothed in plain 
 
 Woollen, 
 May cool his Heat in every Place, he need not to be 
 
 sullen, 
 Nor sigh for Love of Lady fair ; for this each wise 
 
 Man knows : 
 As good Stuff under Flannel lies as under silken 
 
 Clothes. 
 
 27
 
 Sir John Suckling 
 
 Love's Representation 
 
 Leaning her Head upon my Breast 
 There on Love's Bed she lay to rest ; 
 My panting Heart rock'd her asleep, 
 My heedful Eyes the Watch did keep ; 
 Then Love by me being harboured there, 
 In Hope to be his Harbinger, 
 Desire his Rival kept the Door, 
 For this of him I begged no more, 
 But that our Mistress to entertain, 
 Some pretty Fancy he would frame, 
 And represent it in a Dream 
 Of which myself should give the Theme. 
 Then first these Thoughts I bid him show 
 Which only he and I did know, 
 Array'd in Duty and Respect, 
 And not in Fancies that reflect, 
 Then those of Value next present, 
 Approv'd by all the World's Consent ; 
 But to distinguish mine asunder, 
 Apparell'd they must be in Wonder. 
 Such a Device then I would have 
 As Service, not Reward, should crave, 
 Attir'd in spotless Innocence, 
 Not Self-respect, nor no Pretence ; 
 Then such a Faith I would have shown 
 And heretofore was never known. 
 Cloth'd with a constant, clear Intent, 
 Professing always as it meant ; 
 And if Love no such Garments have, 
 My Mind a Wardrobe is so brave. 
 That there sufficient he may see 
 To clothe Impossibility. 
 Then beamy Fetters he shall find. 
 By Admiration subtly twined. 
 That will keep fast the wanton'st Thought 
 That e'er Imagination wrought : 
 28
 
 Sir John Suckling 
 
 There he shall find of Joy a Chain, 
 
 Framed by Despair of her Disdain 
 
 So curiously that it can't tie 
 
 The smallest Hopes that Thoughts now spy. 
 
 There Acts, as glorious as the Sun, 
 
 Are by her Veneration spun, 
 
 In one of which I would have brought 
 
 A pure, unspotted, abstract Thought. 
 
 Considering her as she is good. 
 
 Not in her Frame of Flesh and Blood ; 
 
 These Atoms, then, all in her Sight, 
 
 I bade him join, that so he might 
 
 Discern between true Love's Creation 
 
 And that Love's Form that's now in Fashion. 
 
 Love, granting unto my Request, 
 
 Began to labour in my Breast ; 
 
 But with this Motion he did make. 
 
 It heaved so high that she did wake, 
 
 Blush'd at the Favour she had done, 
 
 Then smiled and then away did run. 
 
 To a Lady who forbade to 
 love before Company 
 
 What ! no more Favours? Not a Ribbon more, 
 Not Fan nor Muff to hold as heretofore? 
 Must all the little Blisses then be left. 
 And what was once Love's Gift, become our Theft ? 
 May we not look ourselves into a Trance, 
 Teach our Souls Parley at our Eyes, not glance, 
 Not touch the Hand, not by soft Wringing there 
 Whisper a Love that only yes can hear? 
 Not free a Sigh, a Sigh that's there for you ? 
 Dear, must I love you, and not love you too ? 
 Be wise, nice, fair : for sooner shall they trace 
 The feather'd Choristers from Place to Place, 
 29
 
 Sir John Suckling 
 
 By Points they make in th' Air, and sooner say 
 By what right Line the last Star made his Way 
 That fled from Heaven to Earth, than guess to know 
 How our Loves first did spring, or how they grow. 
 Love is all Spirit : Fairies sooner may 
 Be taken tardy when they Night-tricks play, 
 Than we, we are too dull and lumpish rather. . . . 
 
 The crafty Boy that had full oft assay'd 
 To pierce my stubborn and resisting Breast, 
 But still the Bluntness of his Darts betray'd, 
 Resolv'd at last of setting up his Rest, 
 Either my wild, unruly Heart to tame, 
 Or quit his Godhead and his Bow disclaim. 
 
 So all his lovely Looks, his pleasing Fires, 
 All his sweet Motions, all his taking Smiles, 
 All that awakes, all that mflames Desires, 
 All that by sweet Commands, all that beguiles. 
 He does into one Pair of Eyes convey. 
 And there begs Leave that he himself may stay. 
 
 And there he brings me where his Ambush lay, 
 Secure and careless to a stranger Land ; 
 And, never warning me, which was foul Play, 
 Does make me close by all this Beauty stand. 
 Where first struck dead, I did at last recover, 
 To know that I might only live to love her. 
 
 So I'll be sworn I do, and do confess 
 
 The blind Lad's Power whilst he inhabits there ; 
 
 But I'll be even with him nevertheless, 
 
 If e'er I chance to meet with him elsewhere. 
 
 If other Eyes invite the Boy to tarry, 
 
 I'll fly to hers as to a Sanctuary. 
 
 30
 
 Sir John Suckling 
 
 1 PRITHEE send me back my Heart, 
 
 Since I cannot have thine, 
 For, if from yours you will not part. 
 
 Why then should'st thou have mine ? 
 
 Yet, now I think on't, let it lie 
 
 To find it were in vain. 
 For th' hast a Thief in either Eye 
 
 Would steal it back again. 
 
 Why should two Hearts in one Breast lie. 
 
 And yet not lodge together ? 
 O Love where is thy Sympathy 
 
 If thus our Breasts thou sever ? 
 
 But Love is such a Mystery, 
 
 I cannot find it out ; 
 For when I think I'm best resolv'd, 
 
 I then am in most Doubt. 
 
 Then Farewell Care and Farewell Woe, 
 
 I will no longer pine : 
 For I'll believe I have her Heart, 
 
 As much as she hath mine. 
 
 I AM confirm'd a Woman can 
 Love this, or that, or any Man ; 
 This Way she's melting hot, 
 To-morrow swears she knows you not ; 
 If she but a new Object find. 
 Then straight she's of another Mind. 
 Then hang me. Ladies, at your Door, 
 If e'er I dote upon you more. 
 
 If still I love the fairsome (why? 
 For nothing but to please my Eye) ; 
 
 31
 
 Sir John Suckling 
 
 And so the fat and soft-skinn'd Dame 
 I'll flatter to appease my Flame ; 
 For she that's musical I'll long 
 When I am sad to sing a Song, 
 
 Then hang me, Ladies, at your Door, 
 If e'er I dote upon you more. 
 
 I'll give my Fancy Leave to range 
 Through everywhere to find out Change, 
 The Black, the Brown, the Fair shall be 
 But Objects of Variety : 
 I'll court you all to serve my Turn, 
 But with such Flames as shall not burn- 
 Then hang me, Ladies, at your Dopr, 
 If e'er I dote upon you more. 
 
 I PRITHEE spare me, gentle Boy, 
 
 Press me no more for that slight Toy, 
 
 That foolish Trifle of a Heart ; 
 
 I swear it will not do its Part, 
 
 Though thou dost thine, employ'st thy Power and Art. 
 
 For through long Custom it has known 
 
 The little Secrets, and is grown 
 
 Sullen and wise, will have its Will, 
 
 And, like old Hawks, pursues that still 
 
 That makes least Sport, flies only where't can kill. 
 
 Some Youth that has not made his Story, 
 Will think, perchance, the Pain's the Glory ; 
 And mannerly fit out Love's Feast ; 
 I shall be carving of the best, 
 Rudely call for the last Course 'fore the Rest. 
 32
 
 Sir John Suckling 
 
 And, O, when once that Course is past, 
 How short a Time the Feast doth last ! 
 Men rise away, and scarce say Grace, 
 Or civilly once thank the Face 
 That did invite, but seek another Place. 
 
 When, dearest, I but think of thee, 
 Methinks all Things that lovely be 
 Are present and my Soul delighted : 
 For Beauties that from Worth arise 
 Are like the Grace of Deities, 
 Still present, though unsighted. 
 
 Thus whilst I sit and sigh the Day 
 With all his borrowed Lights away, 
 Till Night's black Wings do overtake me, 
 Thinking on thee, thy Beauties then. 
 As sudden Lights do sleeping Men, 
 So they by their bright Rays awake me. 
 
 Thus Absence dies, and dying proves 
 No Absence can subsist with Loves 
 That do partake of fair Perfection ; 
 Since in the darkest Night they may 
 By Love's quick Motion find a Way 
 To see each other by Reflection. 
 
 The waving Sea can with each Flood 
 Bathe some high Promont that hath stood 
 Far from the Main up in the River : 
 Oh, think not then but Love can do 
 As much, for that's an Ocean too, 
 Which flows not every day but ever ! 
 
 Hast thou seen the Down in the Air 
 When wanton Blasts have toss'd it ? 
 
 Or the Ship on the Sea, 
 
 When ruder Winds have cross'd it ? 
 p*C 33
 
 Sir John Suckling 
 
 Hast thou mark'd the Crocodile's Weeping, 
 Or the Fox's Sleeping ? 
 
 Or hast viewed the Peacock in his Pride, 
 Or the Dove by his Bride, 
 When he courts for his Lechery ? 
 
 O so fickle, O so vain, O so false, so false is she ! 
 — The Sad One, Act IV. so. iii. 
 
 His Dream 
 
 On a still silent Night scarce could I number 
 One of the Clock, but that a golden Slumber 
 Had locked my Senses fast, and carried me 
 Into a World of blest Felicity, 
 I know not how : first to a Garden, where 
 The Apricot, the Cherry, and the Pear, 
 The Strawberry and Plum, were fairer far 
 Than that eye-pleasing Fruit that caused the Jar 
 Betwixt the Goddesses, and tempted more 
 Than fair Atlanta's Ball, though gilded o'er. 
 
 I gazed awhile on these, and presently 
 
 A silver Stream ran softly gliding by. 
 
 Upon whose Banks, Lilies more white than Snow, 
 
 New fallen from Heaven, with Violets mixed, did 
 
 grow ; 
 Whose Scent so chafed the Neighbour-air, that you 
 Would softly swear that Arabic Spices grew 
 Not far from thence, or that the Place had been 
 With Musk prepared, to entertain Love's Queen. 
 Whilst I admired, the River passed away, 
 And up a Grove did spring, green as in May. 
 
 When April had been moist ; upon whose Bushes 
 The pretty Robins, Nightingales and Thrushes 
 Warbled their Notes so sweetly, that my Ears 
 Did judge at least the Music of the Spheres. 
 
 34
 
 Sir John Suckling 
 
 But here my gentle Dream conveyed me 
 Into the Place where I most longed to see, 
 My Mistress' Bed ; who some few Blushes past 
 And smiling Frowns, contented was at last 
 To let me Touch her Neck ; I, not content 
 With that, slipped to her Breasts, . . . 
 And then 1 waked. 
 
 Brennoralt Gazing on 
 Francelia Asleep 
 
 So Misers look upon their Gold, which while 
 They joy to see, they fear to lose ; the Pleasure 
 O' the Sight scarce equalling the Jealousy 
 Of being dispossess'd by Others. 
 Her Face is like the Milky Way i' th' Sky, 
 A Meeting of gentle Lights without Name. 
 Heavens ! shall this fresh Ornament 
 Of the World, this precious Loveliness 
 Pass, with other common Things, among'st 
 The Wastes of Time ? What Pity 'twere ! 
 
 — Brennoralt, Act IIL 
 
 35
 
 Sir John Suckling 
 
 No, no, fair Heretic, it needs must be 
 
 But an Ill-love in me 
 
 And worse for thee. 
 For were it in my Pow'r, 
 To love thee now this Hour 
 
 More than I did the last : 
 
 I would then so fall 
 
 I might not love at all. 
 Love that can flow and can admit Increase, 
 Admits as well an Ebb, and may grow less. 
 
 True Love is still the same, the torrid Zones, 
 
 And those more frigid ones. 
 
 It must not know. 
 For Love grown cold or hot 
 Is Lust or Friendship, not 
 
 The Thing we have. 
 For that's a Flame would die. 
 Held down or up too high : 
 Then think I love more than I can express, 
 And would love more, could I but love thee less. 
 — Aglauruy Act. IV. sc. i. 
 
 The Metamorphosis 
 
 The little Boy, to show his Might and Power, 
 Turn'd lo to a Cow, Narcissus to a Flower ; 
 Transform'd Apollo to a homely Swain, 
 And Jove himself into a Golden Rain. 
 These Shapes were tolerable, but, by the Mass, 
 He's metamorphosed me into an Ass. 
 
 36
 
 Sir John Suckling 
 A Soldier 
 
 I AM a Man of War and Might 
 And know thus much that I can fight, 
 Whether I am i' th' Wrong or Right, 
 Devoutly. 
 
 No woman under Heaven I fear, 
 New Oaths I can exactly swear, 
 And forty Healths my Brain will bear 
 Most stoutly. 
 
 I cannot speak, but I can do 
 As much as any of our Crew, 
 And, if you doubt it, some of you 
 
 May prove me. 
 
 I dare be bold thus much to say. 
 If that my Bullets do but play, 
 You would be hurt so Night and Day, 
 Yet love me. 
 
 The Expostulation 
 
 Tell me, ye juster Deities, 
 
 That pity Lovers' Miseries, 
 
 Why should my own Unworthiness 
 
 Fright me to seek my Happiness.'' 
 
 It is as natural as just 
 
 Him for to love, whom needs I must 
 
 All Men confess that Love's a Fire, 
 
 Then who denies it to aspire? 
 
 Tell me if thou wert Fortune's Thrall, 
 Would'st thou not raise thee from the Fall ?
 
 Sir John Suckling 
 
 Seek only to o'erlook thy State, 
 
 Whereto thou art condemn 'd by Fate ? 
 
 Then let me love my Corydon, 
 
 By Love's Leave, him love alone : 
 
 For I have read of Stories oft 
 
 That Love hath Wings, and soars aloft. 
 
 Then let me grow in my Desire, 
 
 Though I be martyr'd in that Fire ; 
 
 For Grace it is enough for me 
 
 But only to love such as he : 
 
 For never shall my Thoughts be base. 
 
 Though luckless, yet without Disgrace : 
 
 Then let him that my Love shall blame 
 
 Or clip Love's Wings or quench Love's Flame. 
 
 To Master John Hales of 
 Eton 
 
 Sir, 
 
 Whether these Lines do you find out 
 Putting or clearing of a Doubt, 
 (Whether Predestination 
 Or reconciling Three in One, 
 Or the Unriddlmg how Men die, 
 And live at once eternally 
 Now take you up) know 'tis decreed 
 You straight bestride the College-steed : 
 Leave Socinus and the Schoolmen 
 (Which Jack Bond swears do but fool Men), 
 And come to Town ; 'tis fit you show 
 Yourself abroad, that Men may know 
 (Whate'er some learned Men have guess'd) 
 That Oracles are not yet ceas'd : 
 There you shall find the Wit and Wine 
 Flowing alike and both divine — 
 
 38
 
 Sir John Suckling 
 
 Dishes with Names not known in Books, 
 And less among the College-Cooks, 
 With Sauce so pregnant that you need 
 Not stay till Hunger bids you feed. 
 The Sweat of learned Jonson's Brain, 
 And gentle Shakespeare's easier Strain, 
 A Hackney-coach conveys you to, 
 In Spite of all that Rain can do ; 
 And for your Eighteenpence you sit 
 The Lord and Judge of all fresh Wit. 
 News in one Day as much w' have here 
 As serves all Windsor for a Year, 
 And which the Carrier brings to you 
 After t' has here been found not true. 
 Then think what Company's design'd 
 To meet you here, Men so refin'd ; 
 Their very common talk at Board 
 Makes wise or mad a young Court-lord, 
 And makes him capable to be 
 Umpire in 's Father's Company. 
 Where no Disputes nor forced Defence 
 Of a Man's Person for his Sense 
 Take up the Time ; all strive to be 
 Masters of Truth, as Victory : 
 And where you come, I'd boldly swear 
 A Synod might as eas'ly err. 
 
 Why so pale and wan, fond Lover ? 
 
 Prithee, why so pale ? 
 Will, when looking well can't move her. 
 
 Looking ill prevail ? 
 
 Prithee, why so pale ? 
 
 Why so dull and mute, young Sinner ? 
 
 Prithee, why so mute ? 
 Will, when speaking well can't win her, 
 
 Saying nothing do 't? 
 
 Prithee, why so mute ? 
 
 39
 
 Sir John Suckling 
 
 Quit, quit, for Shame, this will not move, 
 
 This cannot take her. 
 If of herself she will not love, 
 
 Nothing can make her — 
 
 The Devil take her ! 
 
 — Aglaura, Act IV. sc. i. 
 
 Fill it up, fill it up to the Brink, 
 When the Pots cry Clink, 
 And the Pockets chink. 
 Then 'tis a merry World ! 
 
 To the best, to the best, have at her ! 
 And a Pox take the Woman-hater ! 
 The Prince of Darkness is a Gentleman : 
 Mahu, Mahu ^ is his Name. 
 
 — The Goblins, Act III. 
 
 Come, let the State stay, 
 And drink away : 
 There is no Business above it, 
 It warms the cold Brain, 
 Makes us speak in high Strain : 
 He's a Fool that does not approve it. 
 The Macedon Youth 
 Left behind him this Truth, 
 That Nothing is done with much Thinking, — 
 He drank and he fought 
 Till he had what he sought. 
 The World was his own by hard Drinking. 
 — Brennoralt^ Act II. sc. i. 
 
 1 This comes from King Lear (III. iv.) where poor Tom 
 sings — 
 
 " The Prince of Darkness is a gentleman, 
 Modo he's called and Mahu." 
 
 Elsewhere, however (IV. i.), he is the tributary fiend of theft. 
 
 40
 
 Sir John Suckling 
 
 She's pretty to walk with, 
 
 And witty to talk with, 
 And pleasant too to think on ; 
 
 But the best Use of all 
 
 Is, her Health is a Stale, 
 And helps us to make us drink on. 
 
 Brettnoralt, Act II. sc. i. 
 
 41
 
 Sir Charles Sedley 
 
 Phillis, Men say that all my Vows 
 
 Are to thy Fortune paid ; 
 Alas ! my Heart he little knows 
 
 Who thinks my Love a Trade. 
 
 Were I of all these Woods the Lord, 
 One Berry from thy Hand 
 
 More real Pleasure would afford 
 Than all my large Command. 
 
 My humble Love has learnt to live 
 
 On what the nicest Maid, 
 Without a conscious Blush, may give 
 
 Beneath the Myrtle Shade. 
 
 Phillis is my only Joy, 
 
 Faithless as the Winds or Seas, 
 Sometimes coming, sometimes coy. 
 Yet she never fails to please ; 
 If with a Frown 
 I am cast down, 
 Phillis smiling 
 And beguiling, 
 Makes me happier than before. 
 
 Though, alas ! too late I find 
 Nothing can her Fancy fix, 
 
 Yet the Moment she is kind, 
 I forgive her all her Tricks ; 
 42
 
 Sir Charles Sedley 
 
 Which, though I see, 
 I can't get free ; 
 She deceiving, 
 I beheving : 
 What need Lovers wish for more ? 
 
 Hears not my Phillis how the Birds 
 Their featherM Mates salute? 
 
 They tell their Passion in their Words 
 Must I alone be mute ? 
 
 Phillis^ without Frozun or Sniile^ 
 
 Sat and knotted all the while. 
 
 The God of Love in thy bright Eyes 
 
 Does like a Tyrant reign. 
 But in thy Heart a Child he lies 
 
 Without his Dart or Flame. 
 Phillis, ivithout Frown or Smile, 
 Sat and knotted all the while. 
 
 So many Months in Silence pass'd 
 
 And yet in raging Love, 
 Might well deserve one Word at last 
 
 My Passion should approve. 
 Phillis, without Frown or Smile, 
 Sat and knotted all the while. 
 
 Must then your faithful Swain expire, 
 
 And not one Look obtain, 
 Which he, to soothe his fond Desire, 
 
 Might pleasingly explain ? 
 Phillis, without Frown or Smile, 
 Sat and knotted all the while. 
 
 43
 
 Sir Charles Sedley 
 
 To a Devout Young 
 Gentlewoman 
 
 Phillis, this early Zeal assuage, 
 
 You over-act your Part ; 
 The Martyrs at your Tender Age 
 
 Gave HeaVn but half their Heart. 
 
 Old Men (till past the Pleasure) ne'er 
 
 Declaim against the Sin ; 
 'Tis early to begin to fear 
 
 The Devil at Fifteen. 
 
 The World to Youth is too severe, 
 And, like a treacherous Light, 
 
 Beauty the Actions of the Fair 
 Exposes to their Sight. 
 
 And yet this World, as old as 'tis, 
 
 Is oft deceived by 't too ; 
 Kind Combinations seldom miss, 
 
 Let's try what we can do. 
 
 The Extravagant 
 
 I AM a lusty, lively Lad 
 
 Arriv'd at One and Twenty, 
 My Father left me all he had, 
 
 Both Gold and Silver plenty. 
 Now he's in Grave, I will be brave. 
 
 The Ladies shall adore me : 
 I'll court and kiss, what Harm's in this ? 
 
 My Dad did so before me. 
 
 44
 
 Sir Charles Sedley 
 
 My Father to get my Estate, 
 
 Though selfish yet was slavish ; 
 I'll spend it at another Rate, 
 
 And be as lewdly lavish. 
 From Madmen, Fools and Knaves he did 
 
 Litigiously receive it ; 
 If so he did Justice forbid. 
 
 But I to such should leave it. 
 
 Then I'll to Court, where Venus' Sport 
 
 Doth revel it in Plenty, 
 And deal with all both great and small 
 
 From Twelve to Five and Twenty. 
 In Playhouses I'll spend my Days, 
 
 For there are Store of Misses — 
 Ladies, make Room, behold I come 
 
 To purchase many Kisses. 
 
 The Forward Lover 
 
 Tush ! never tell me I'm too young 
 
 For loving, or too green ; 
 She stays at least seven Years too long, 
 
 That's wedded at Eighteen. 
 Lambs bring forth Lambs, and Doves bring Doves, 
 
 As soon as they're begotten : 
 Then why should ladies linger Loves, 
 
 As if not ripe till rotten ? 
 
 Grey Hairs are fitter for the Grave 
 
 Than for the bridal Bed, 
 What Pleasure can a Lover have 
 
 In a wither'd Maidenhead? 
 Nature's exalted in our Time, 
 
 And what our Grandames then 
 At Four and Twenty scarce could climb. 
 
 We can arrive at Ten. 
 
 45
 
 Sir Charles Sedley 
 
 Ah, Chloris ! that I now could sit 
 
 As unconcern'd, as when 
 Your infant Beauty could beget 
 
 No Pleasure nor no Pain. 
 
 When I the Dawn used to admire, 
 And praised the coming Day, 
 
 I little thought the growing Fire 
 Must take my Rest away. 
 
 Your Charms in harmless Childhood lay, 
 
 Like Metals in the Mine : 
 Age from no Face took more away, 
 
 Than Youth conceal'd in thine. 
 
 But as your Charms insensibly 
 To their Perfection press'd. 
 
 Fond Love as unperceiv'd did fly. 
 And in my Bosom rest. 
 
 My Passion with your Beauty grew, 
 
 And Cupid at my Heart, 
 Still as his Mother favour'd you. 
 
 Threw a new flaming Dart. 
 
 Each gloried in their wanton Part ; 
 
 To make a Lover, he 
 Employ'd the utmost of his Art — 
 
 To make a Beauty she. 
 
 Though now I slowly bend to Love, 
 
 Uncertain of my Fate, 
 If your fair Self my Chains approve, 
 
 1 shall my Freedom hate. 
 
 Lovers, like dying Men, may well 
 
 At first disorder'd be ; 
 Since none alive can truly tell 
 
 What Fortune they must see. 
 46
 
 Sir Charles Sedley 
 
 Love still has something of the Sea, 
 From whence his Mother rose, 
 
 No Time his Slaves from Doubt can free, 
 Nor give their Thoughts Repose. 
 
 They are becalm'd in clearest Days, 
 
 And in rough Weather tost ; 
 They wither under cold Delays, 
 
 Or are in Tempests lost. 
 
 One while they seem to touch the Port, 
 
 Then straight into the Main 
 Some angry Wind in cruel Sport 
 
 The Vessel drives again. 
 
 At first Disdain and Pride they fear, 
 Which, if they chance to 'scape. 
 
 Rivals and Falsehood soon appear 
 In a more dreadful Shape. 
 
 By such Degrees to Joy they come, 
 
 And are so long withstood, 
 So slowly they receive the Sum, 
 
 It hardly does them good. 
 
 'Tis cruel to prolong a Pain, 
 
 And to defer a Joy, 
 Believe me, gentle Celemene 
 
 Offends the winged Boy. 
 
 An hundred thousand Oaths your Fears 
 
 Perhaps would not remove, 
 And if I gazed a thousand years 
 
 1 could no deeper love. 
 
 Fair Aminta, art thou mad 
 To let the World in me 
 
 Envy Joys I never had, 
 And censure them in thee? 
 
 47
 
 Sir Charles Sedley 
 
 Fill'd with Grief for what is past, 
 
 Let us at length be wise, 
 And to Love's true Enjoyments haste 
 
 Since we have paid the Price. 
 
 Love does easy Souls despise, 
 Who lose themselves for Toys, 
 
 And Escape for those devise. 
 Who taste his utmost Joys. 
 
 Love should, like the Year, be crown'd 
 
 With sweet Variety ; 
 Hope should in the Spring abound, 
 
 Kind Fears and Jealousie. 
 
 In the Summer Flow'rs should rise 
 
 And in the Autumn Fruit ; 
 His Spring doth else but mock our Eyes, 
 
 And in a Scoff salute. 
 
 Advice to the Old Beaux 
 
 Scrape no more your harmless Chins 
 
 Old Beaux in Hope to please ; 
 You should repent your former Sins, 
 
 Not study their Increase : 
 Young awkward Tops may shock our Sight 
 But you offend by Day and Night. 
 
 In vain the Coachman turns about 
 
 And whips the dappled Bays, 
 When the old Ogler looks out 
 
 We turn away our Face. 
 True Love and Youth will ever charm 
 But, both affected, cannot warm. 
 48
 
 Sir Charles Sedley 
 
 Summer Fruits we highly prize, 
 They kindly cool the Blood ; 
 
 But Winter Berries we despise, 
 And leave 'em in the Wood : 
 
 On the Bush they may look well, 
 
 But, gathered, lose both Taste and Smell. 
 
 That you languish, that you die, 
 
 Alas ! is but too true : 
 Yet tax us not with Cruelty, 
 
 Who daily pity you. 
 Nature henceforth alone accuse, 
 In vain we grant, if she refuse. 
 
 Not, Celia, that I juster am 
 
 Or better than the Rest, 
 For I would change each Hour like them 
 
 Were not my Heart at Rest. 
 
 But I am tied to very thee 
 
 By every Thought I have, 
 Thy Face I only care to see. 
 
 Thy Heart I only crave. 
 
 All that in Woman is ador'd 
 
 In thy dear Self I find, 
 For the whole Sex can but afford 
 
 The handsome and the kind. 
 
 Why then should I seek farther Store, 
 
 And still make Love anew ? 
 When Change itself can give no more 
 
 'Tis easy to be true. 
 
 P* D 49
 
 John Wilmot, Earl of 
 Rochester 
 
 All my past Life is mine no more, 
 
 The flying Hours are gone ; 
 Like transitory Dreams giv'n o'er 
 Whose Images are kept in Store 
 By Memory alone. 
 
 The Time that is to come is not, 
 
 How can it then be mine, 
 The present Moment's all my Lot, 
 And that, as fast as it is got, 
 Is, Phillis, only thine. 
 
 Then talk not of Inconstancy, 
 False Hearts and broken Vows, 
 
 If I by Miracle can be 
 
 This live-long Minute, true to thee, 
 'Tis all that HeaVn allows. 
 
 To Corinna 
 
 What cruel Pains Corinna takes. 
 To force that harmless Frown, 
 
 When not one Charm her Face forsakes 
 Love cannot lose his own. 
 50
 
 John Wilmot 
 
 So sweet a Face, so soft a Heart, 
 
 Such Eyes so very kind, 
 Betray, alas ! the silly Art 
 
 Virtue had ill-design'd. 
 
 Poor feeble Tyrant ! who in vain 
 Would proudly take upon her 
 
 Against kind Nature to maintain 
 Officious Rules of Honour. 
 
 The scorn she bears so helpless proves 
 When I plead Passion to her, 
 
 That much she fears (but more she loves) 
 Her Vassal should undo her. 
 
 Room, Room for a Blade of the Town 
 That takes Delight in Roaring, 
 
 Who all Day long rambles up and down. 
 And at night in the Streets lies snoring. 
 
 That for the noble Name of Spark 
 
 Does his Companions rally. 
 Commits an Outrage in the Dark, 
 
 Then slinks into an Alley. 
 
 To every Female that he meets. 
 He swears he bears Affection, 
 
 Defies all Laws, Arrests and Cheats 
 By the Help of a kind Protection. 
 
 When he intending further Wrongs 
 
 By some resenting Cully, 
 Is decently run through the Lungs, 
 
 And there's an End of Bully. 
 
 An Age in her Embraces past 
 
 Would seem a Winter's Day, 
 Where Light and Life with envious Haste 
 
 Are torn and snatcht away. 
 
 51
 
 John Wilmot 
 
 But oh how slowly Minutes roll 
 
 When absent from her Eyes 
 That fed my Love which is my Soul, 
 
 It languishes and dies. 
 
 For then no more a Soul but Shade, 
 
 It mournfully doth move. 
 And haunts my Breast, by Absence made 
 
 The living Tomb of Love. 
 
 You wiser Men, despise me not, 
 
 Whose Love-sick Fancy raves 
 On Shades of Souls and Heav'n knows what, 
 
 Short Ages live in Graves : 
 
 Whene'er those wounding Eyes, so full 
 
 Of Sweetness, you did see, 
 Had you not been profoundly dull. 
 
 You had gone mad like me. 
 
 Phillis, be gentler, I advise, 
 
 Make up for Time mis-spent. 
 When Beauty on her Death-bed lies, 
 
 'Tis high Time to repent. 
 
 Such is the Malice of your Fate, 
 
 That makes you old so soon, 
 Your Pleasure ever comes too late 
 
 However soon begun. 
 
 Think what a wretched thing is she 
 
 Whose Stars contrive in Spite. 
 The Morning of her Love should be 
 
 Her fading Beauty's Night. 
 
 Then, if to make your Ruin more, 
 
 You'll peevishly be coy, 
 Die with the Scandal of a Whore, 
 
 And never know the Joy. 
 
 52
 
 John Wilmot 
 
 Nor censure us you who perceive 
 
 My Best-Beloved and me 
 Sigh and lament, complain and grieve : 
 
 You think we disasrree. 
 
 Alas ! 'tis sacred Jealousy 
 Love raised to an Extreme : 
 
 The only Proof 'twixt them and me 
 We love and do not dream. 
 
 Fantastic Fancies fondly move 
 
 And in frail Joys believe, 
 Taking false Pleasure for true Love ; 
 
 But Pain can ne'er deceive. 
 
 Kind, jealous Doubts, tormenting. 
 And anxious Cares when past, 
 
 Prove our Heart's Treasure fix'd and dear 
 And make us blest at last. 
 
 Grecian Kindness 
 
 The utmost Grace the Greeks could show 
 When to the Trojans they grew kind. 
 
 Was, with their Arms, to let 'em go. 
 
 And leave their ling'ring Wives behind ; 
 
 They beat the Men and burnt the Town, 
 
 Then all the Baggage was their own. 
 
 There the kind Deity of Wine 
 
 Kiss'd the soft wanton God of Love : 
 
 This clapp'd his Wings, that press'd his Vine, 
 And their best powers united move. 
 
 While each brave Greek embraced his Punk, 
 
 Lull'd her asleep, and then grew drunk. 
 
 53
 
 John Wilmot 
 Woman's Honour 
 
 Love bid me hope, and I obey'd ; 
 
 Phillis continued still unkind : 
 "Then you may e'en despair," he said, 
 
 " In vain I strive to change her Mind ; 
 
 Honour's got in and keeps her Heart, 
 Durst he but venture once abroad, 
 
 In my own Right I'd take your Part 
 And show myself a mightier God. 
 
 This huffing Honour domineers 
 
 In Breasts where he alone has Place : 
 
 But if true generous Love appears, 
 The Hector dares not show his Face. 
 
 Let me still languish and complain, 
 
 Be most inhumanly deny'd, 
 I have some Pleasure in my Pain, 
 
 She can have none with all her Pride. 
 
 I fall a Sacrifice to Love, 
 
 She lives a Wretch for Honour's Sake : 
 Whose Tyrant does most cruel prove. 
 
 The diff'rence is not hard to make. 
 
 Consider real Honour then. 
 
 You'll find hers cannot be the same ; 
 'Tis noble Confidence in Men, 
 
 In Women mean distrustful Shame." 
 
 The Fall 
 
 How blest was the created State 
 Of Man and Woman ere they fell ! 
 
 Compared to our unhappy Fate ; 
 We need not fear another Hell ! 
 
 54
 
 John Wilmot 
 
 Naked, beneath cool shades, they lay, 
 Enjoyment waited on Desire, 
 
 Each Member did their Wills obey, 
 Nor could a Wish set Pleasure higher. 
 
 But we, poor Slaves to Hope and Fear, 
 Are never of our Joys secure : 
 
 They lessen still as they draw near. 
 And none but dull Delights endure. 
 
 Then, Chloris, while I Duty pay, 
 The nobler Tribute of my Heart, 
 
 Be not you so severe to say 
 You love me for a frailer Part. 
 
 Give me Leave to rail at you, 
 
 I ask nothing but my due 
 
 To call you false and then to say 
 
 You shall not keep my Heart a Day. 
 
 But, alas ! against my Will, 
 
 I must be your Captive still. 
 
 Ah, be kinder then, for I 
 
 Cannot change and would not die. 
 
 Kindness has resistless Charms, 
 
 All besides but weakly move, 
 Fiercest Anger it disarms. 
 
 And clips the Wings of flying Love. 
 Beauty does the Heart invade, 
 Kindness only can persuade ; 
 It gilds the Lover's servile chain, 
 And makes the Slaves grow pleased again. 
 
 Upon Leaving his Mistress 
 
 'Tis not that I am weary grown 
 Of being yours and yours alone, 
 But with what Face can I incline 
 To damn you to be only mine .'' 
 
 55
 
 John Wilmot 
 
 You, whom some kinder Pow'r did fashion 
 
 By Merit and by Inclination 
 
 The Joy at least of a whole Nation. 
 
 Let meaner Spirits of your Sex 
 
 With humbler Aims their Thoughts perplex, 
 
 And boast if, by their Arts, they can 
 
 Contrive to make one happy Man : 
 
 While, moved by an impartial Sense, 
 
 Favours like Nature you dispense 
 
 With universal influence. 
 
 See, the kind Seed receiving Earth 
 To every Grain affords a Birth, 
 On her no Show'rs unwelcome fall, 
 Her willing Womb retains 'em all. 
 And shall my Celia be confin'd ? 
 No, live up to thy mighty Mind, 
 And be the Mistress of Mankind ! 
 
 Absent from thee I languish still, 
 Then ask me not, when I return ? 
 
 The straying Fool 'twill plainly kill 
 To wish all Day, all Night to mourn. 
 
 Dear, from thine Arms then let me fly, 
 That my fantastic Mind may prove 
 
 The Torments it deserves to try, 
 
 That tears my fixed Heart from my Love. 
 
 When, wearied with a World of Woe, 
 
 To thy safe Bosom I retire. 
 Where Love, and Peace, and Honour flow. 
 
 May I, contented, there expire. 
 
 Lest once more wandering from that Heaven, 
 I fall on some base Heart unblessed, 
 
 Faithless to thee, false, unforgiven. 
 And lose my everlasting Rest. 
 
 56
 
 John Wilmot 
 
 To his Mistress 
 
 Why dost thou shade thy lovely Face ? O why 
 
 Does that eclipsing Hand of thine deny 
 
 The Sunshine of the Sun's enlightening Eye ? 
 
 Without thy Light what Light remains in me ? 
 Thou art my Life ; my Way, my Light's in thee 
 I live, I move, and by thy Beams I see. 
 
 Thou art my Life — if thou but turn away 
 
 I die a thousand Deaths. Thou art my Way — 
 
 Without thee, Love, I travel not, but stray. 
 
 My Light thou art — without thy glorious Sight 
 
 My Eyes are darken'd with eternal Night. 
 
 My Love, thou art my Way, my Life, my Light. 
 
 Thou art my Way ; I wander if thou fly. 
 Thou art my 
 Thou art my 
 
 my Way ; I wander if thou fly. 
 my Light ; if hid how blind am I ! 
 my Life ; if thou withdraw'st, I die. 
 
 My Eyes are dark and blind, I cannot see : 
 To whom or whither should my Darkness flee, 
 But to that Light ?— and who's that Light but thee ? 
 
 If I have lost my Path, dear Lover, say. 
 Shall I still wander in a doubtful Way ? 
 Love, shall a Lamb of Israel's Sheepfold stray? 
 
 My Path is lost, my wandering Steps do stray ; 
 
 I cannot go, nor can I safely stay ; 
 
 Whom should I seek but thee, my Path, my Way ? 
 
 And yet thou turn'st away thy Face and fly'st me ! 
 And yet I sue for Grace and thou deny'st me ! 
 Speak, art thou angry. Love, or only try'st me ? 
 
 57
 
 John Wilmot 
 
 Thou art the Pilgrim's Path, the bhnd Man's Eye, 
 The dead Man's Life. On thee my Hopes rely : 
 If I but them remove, I surely die. 
 
 Dissolve thy Sunbeams, close thy Wings and stay ! 
 See, see how I am blind, and dead, and stray ! 
 — Oh thou that art my Life, my Light, my Way ! 
 
 Then work thy Will ! If Passion bid thee flee, 
 My Reason shall obey, my Wings shall be 
 Stretch'd out no further than from me to thee ! 
 
 My dear Mistress has a Heart, 
 
 Soft as those kind Looks she gave me, 
 When with Love's resistless Art 
 
 And her Eyes she did enslave me. 
 But her Constancy's so weak, 
 
 She's so wild and apt to wander. 
 That my jealous Heart would break. 
 
 Should we live one day asunder. 
 
 Melting Joys about her move. 
 
 Killing Pleasures, wounding Blisses, 
 She can dress her Eyes in Love, 
 
 And her Lips can warm with Kisses. 
 Angels listen when she speaks. 
 
 She's my Delight, all Mankind's Wonder, 
 But my jealous Heart would break. 
 
 Should we live one day asunder. 
 
 While on those lovely Looks I gaze, 
 
 To see a Wretch pursuing, 
 In Raptures of a blest Amaze 
 
 His pleasing happy Ruin ; 
 'Tis not for Pity that I move, 
 
 His Fate is too aspiring. 
 Whose Heart, broke with a Load of Love, 
 
 Dies wishing and admiring. 
 
 58
 
 John Wilmot 
 
 But if this Murder you'd forego, 
 
 Your Slave from Death removing, 
 Let me your Art of Charming know, 
 
 Or learn you mine of Loving ; 
 But, whether Death or Life betide, 
 
 In Love 'tis equal Measure ; 
 The Victor lives with empty Pride, 
 
 The Vanquish'd die with Pleasure. 
 
 A Dialogue 
 
 Strephon 
 
 Prithee, now, fond Fool, give o'er ; 
 Since my Heart is gone before, 
 To what Purpose should I stay ? 
 Love commands another Way. 
 
 Daphne 
 
 Perjur'd Swain, I knew the Time 
 When Dissembling was your Crime ; 
 In Pity now employ that Art, 
 Which first betray'd, to ease my Heart. 
 
 Strephon 
 
 Women can with Pleasure feign. 
 Men dissemble still with Pain. 
 What Advantage will it prove, 
 If I lie, who cannot love ? 
 
 Daphne 
 
 Tell me then the Reason, why 
 Love from Hearts in Love does fly ? 
 Why the Bird will build a Nest, 
 Where she ne'er intends to rest ? 
 
 59
 
 John Wilmot 
 
 Strephon 
 
 Love, like other little Boys, 
 Cries for Hearts, as they for Toys, 
 Which, when gain'd, in childish Play, 
 Wantonly are thrown away. 
 
 Daphne 
 
 Still on Wing or on his Knees, 
 Love does nothing by degrees, 
 Basely flying when most prized, 
 Meanly fawning when despised, 
 Flattering or insulting ever. 
 Generous and grateful never : 
 All his Joys are fleeting Dreams, 
 All his Woes severe Extremes. 
 
 Strephon 
 
 Nymph, unjustly you inveigh ; 
 Love, like us, must Fate obey. 
 Since 'tis Nature's Law to change, 
 Constancy alone is strange. 
 See the Heavens in Lightnings break. 
 Next in storms of Thunder speak, 
 Till a kind Rain from above 
 Makes a Calm, — so 'tis in Love. 
 Flames begin our first Address, 
 Like meeting Thunder we embrace, 
 Then, you know, the Showers that fall 
 Quench the Fire and quiet all. 
 
 Daphne 
 
 How should I these Showers forget ? 
 'Twas so pleasant to be wet ! 
 They kill'd Love, I know it well, 
 I died all the while they fell. 
 Say, at least, what Nymph it is 
 Robs my Breast of so much Bliss ? 
 If she's fair, I shall be eased, 
 Through my Ruin you'll be pleased. 
 60
 
 John Wilmot 
 
 Strephon 
 
 Daphne never was so fair, 
 Strephon, scarcely, so sincere, 
 Gentle, innocent and free. 
 Ever pleased with only me : 
 Many Charms my Heart enthral. 
 But there's one, above them all. 
 With Aversion she does fly — 
 Tedious, trading Constancy. 
 
 Daphne 
 Cruel Shepherd ! I submit, 
 Do what you and Love think fit : 
 Change is Fate and not Design, — 
 Say you would have still been mine. 
 
 Strephon 
 
 Nymph, I cannot : 'tis too true. 
 Change has greater Charms than you. 
 Be by my Example wise. 
 Faith to Pleasure sacrifice. 
 
 Daphne 
 
 Silly Swain, I'll have you know 
 'Twas my Practice long ago. 
 Whilst you vainly thought me true, 
 I was false in Scorn of you. 
 By my Tears, my Heart's Disguise, 
 I thy Love and thee despise : 
 Womankind more Joy discovers 
 Making Fools than making Lovers. 
 
 Upon Drinking in a Bowl 
 
 Vulcan, contrive me such a Cup 
 
 As Nestor used of Old, 
 Show all thy Skill to trim it up. 
 
 Damask it round with Gold. 
 6i
 
 John Wilmot 
 
 Make it so large, that, fiU'd with Sack 
 
 Up to the swelling Brim, 
 Vast Toasts on the delicious Lake, 
 
 Like Ships at Sea, may swim. 
 
 Engrave not Battle on his Cheek, 
 With War I've nought to do, 
 
 I'm none of those that took Maestrick, 
 Nor Yarmouth Leaguer knew. 
 
 Let it no Name of Planets tell, 
 Fix'd Stars and Constellations ; 
 
 For I am no Sir Sidrophel, 
 Nor none of his Relations. 
 
 But carve thereon a spreading Vine, 
 
 Then add two lovely Boys ; 
 Their Limbs in amorous Folds entwine, 
 
 The Type of future Joys. 
 
 Cupid and Bacchus my Saints are, 
 May Drink and Love still reign ! 
 
 With Wine I wash away my Care, 
 And then to Love again ! 
 
 Upon Nothing 
 
 Nothing .' thou Elder Brother ev'n to Shade, 
 That hadst a Being ere the World was made. 
 And (well fixt) art alone, of Ending not afraid. 
 
 Ere Time and Place were. Time and Place were not. 
 When primitive Nothing something straight begot. 
 Then all proceeded from the great united . . . What ? 
 
 Something, the general Attribute of all, 
 Sever'd from thee, its sole Original, 
 Into thy boundless Self must undistinguish'd fall. 
 62
 
 John Wilmot 
 
 Yet Something did thy mighty Power command, 
 
 And from fruitful Emptiness's Hand 
 
 Snatch'd Men, Beasts, Birds, Fire, Air, and Land. 
 
 Matter the wicked'st Offspring of thy Race, 
 
 By Form assisted, flew from thy Embrace, 
 
 And rebel Light obscur'd thy reverend dusky Face. 
 
 With Form and Matter, Time and Place did join ; 
 Body, thy Foe, with thee did Leagues combine 
 To spoil thy peaceful Realm, and ruin all thy Line. 
 
 But Turn-coat Time assists the Foe in vain. 
 And, brib'd by thee, assists thy short-liv'd Reign, 
 And to thy hungry Womb drives back thy Slaves again. 
 
 Though Mysteries are barr'd from laic Eyes, 
 And the Divine alone, with Warrant, pries 
 Into thy Bosom where Truth in private lies : 
 
 Yet this of thee the Wise may freely say. 
 Thou from the Virtuous nothing tak'st away, 
 And, to be Part with thee, the Wicked wisely pray. 
 
 Great Negative ! how vainly would the Wise 
 
 Enquire, define, distinguish, teach, devise. 
 
 Didst thou not stand to point their dull philosophies ? 
 
 /$•, or is not, the Two great Ends of Fate, 
 And, true or false, the Subject of Debate, 
 That perfect or destroy the vast Designs of Fate ; 
 
 When they have rack'd the Politician's Breast, 
 
 Within thy Bosom most securely rest. 
 
 And, when reduced to thee, are least unsafe and best ? 
 
 But Nothing, — why does Something still permit 
 
 That sacred Monarchs should at Council sit, 
 
 With Persons highly thought at best for Nothing fit .? 
 
 63
 
 John Wilmot 
 
 Whilst weighty Something modestly abstains 
 From Princes' Coffers and from Statesmen's Brains, 
 And Nothing there, like stately Nothing, reigns. 
 
 Nothing who dwell'st with Fools in grave disguise 
 For whom they reverend Shapes and Forms devise. 
 Lawn Sleeves, and Furs, and Gowns, when they, like 
 thee, look wise. 
 
 French Truth, Dutch Prowess, British Policy, 
 Hibernian Learning, Scotch Civility, 
 Spaniards' Dispatch, Danes' Wit, are mainly seen in 
 thee. 
 
 The great Man's Gratitude to his best Friend, 
 Kings' Promises, Whores' vows, towards thee may 
 
 bend, 
 How swiftly into thee, and in thee ever end. 
 
 Turnbull &= Spears, Printers, Edinburgh.
 
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