romantic poems

Or, Hypocrisy Detected

Thus says the prophet of the Turk —
Good mussulman, abstain from pork;
There is a part in ev'ry swine
No friend or follower of mine
May taste, whate'er his inclination,
On pain of excommunication.
Such Mahomet's mysterious charge,
And thus he left the point at large.
[Had he the sinful part express'd,
They might with safety eat the rest;
But for one piece they thought it hard
From the whole hog to be debarr'd,

How blest the youth whom Fate ordains
A kind relief from all his pains,
In some admired fair;
Whose tend'rest wishes find express'd
Their own resemblance in her breast
Exactly copied there.

What good soe'er the Gods dispense,
Th' enjoyment of its influence
Still on her love depends;
Her love the shield that guards his heart,
Or wards the blow, or blunts the dart,
That peevish Fortune sends.

Thus, Delia, while thy love endures,
The flame my happy breast secures
From Fortune's fickle pow'r;

First, last, and dearest,
My love, mine own,
Thee best beloved,
Thee love alone,
Once and for ever
So love I thee.

First as a suppliant
Love makes his moan,
Then as a monarch
Sets up his throne:
Once and for ever —
So love I thee.

I seek among the living & I seek
Among the dead for some to love; but few
I find at last & these have quite run through
Their store of love & friendship is too weak
And cold for me; yet will I never speak
Telling my heart want to cold listeners who
Will wonder smiling; I can bear & do
No tears shall sully my unfurrowed cheek
So when my dust shall mix with other dust
When I shall have found quiet in decay
And lie at ease & cease to be & rot
Those whom I love thinking of me shall not

Instruct me now, what love will do;
'Twill make a tongless man to wooe.
Inform me next, what love will do;
'Twill strangely make a one of too.
Teach me besides, what love will do;
'Twill quickly mar, & make ye too.
Tell me, now last, what love will do;
'Twill hurt and heal a heart pierc'd through.

Like will to like, each Creature loves his kinde;
Chaste words proceed still from a bashfull minde.

Nothing hard, or harsh can prove
Unto those that truly love.

Love is maintain'd by wealth; when all is spent,
Adversity then breeds the discontent.

From me my Silvia ranne away,
And running therewithall;
A Primrose Banke did cross her way,
And gave my Love a fall.

But trust me now I dare not say,
What I by chance did see;
But such the Drap'ry did betray
That fully ravisht me.

Teares most prevaile; with teares too thou mayst move
Rocks to relent, and coyest maids to love.