Far from thy dearest self, the scope Of all my aims, I waste in secret flames; And only live because I hope. Oh, when will Fate restore The joys, in whose bright fire My expectation shall expire, That I may live because I hope no more!
He whose active thoughts disdain To be captive to one foe, And would break his single chain, Or else more would undergo; Let him learn the art of me, By new bondage to be free!
What tyrannic mistress dare To one beauty love confine, Who, unbounded as the air, All may court but none decline? 10 Why should we the heart deny As many objects as the eye?
Wheresoe'er I turn or move, A new passion doth detain me: Those kind beauties that do love, Or those proud ones that disdain me; This frown melts, and that smile burns me; This to tears, that ashes turns me.
Soft fresh Virgins, not full blown, With their youthful sweetness take me; 20 Sober Matrons, that have known Long since what these prove, awake me; Here staid coldness I admire; There the lively active fire.
She that doth by skill dispense Every favour she bestows, Or the harmless innocence, Which nor court nor city knows, Both alike my soul enflame, That wild Beauty, and this tame. 30
She that wisely can adorn Nature with the wealth of Art, Or whose rural sweets do scorn Borrow'd helps to take a heart, The vain care of that's my pleasure, Poverty of this my treasure.
Both the wanton and the coy, Me with equal pleasures move; She whom I by force enjoy, Or who forceth me to love: 40 This, because she'll not confess, That not hide, her happiness.
She whose loosely flowing hair, Scatter'd like the beams o' th' morn, Playing with the sportive air, Hides the sweets it doth adorn, Captive in that net restrains me, In those golden fetters chains me.
Nor doth she with power less bright My divided heart invade, 50 Whose soft tresses spread like night O'er her shoulders a black shade; For the starlight of her eyes Brighter shines through those dark skies.
Black, or fair, or tall, or low, I alike with all can sport; The bold sprightly Thais woo, Or the frozen Vestal court; Every Beauty takes my mind, Tied to all, to none confin'd. 60
[_Love's Heretic._] This, for Stanley, longish piece has few _vv. ll._ But _1647_ reads in l. 34 'that' instead of 'to', and the singular 'pleasure' in l. 38. The piece is rather in the Suckling vein; but Stanley did not play the light-o'-love quite successfully.]