Sometime he runs among the Flock of Sheep,
To make the cunning Hounds mistake their Smell;
And fometime, where Earth-delving Conies keep,
To ftop the loud Purfuers in their Yell;
And fometime forteth with a Herd of Deer:
Danger devifeth Shifts, Wit waits on Fear.
For there his Smell with others being mingled.
The hot-scent-fnuffing Hounds are driven to doubt,
Ceafing their clamorous Cry, till they have fingled,
With much ado, the cold Fault cleanly out:
Then do they spend their Mouths; Eccho replies,
As if another Chafe were in the Skies.
By this poor Watt far off, upon a Hill,
Stands on his hinder Legs with lift'ning Ear,
To hearken if his Foes purfue him ftill:
Anon their loud Alarums he doth hear,
And now his Grief may be compared well
To one fore fick, that hears the paffing Bell.
Then fhalt thou fee the dew-bedabbled Wretch
Turn, and return, indenting with the Way.
Each envious Brier his weary Legs doth fcratch,
Each Shadow makes him ftop, each Murmur ftay.
For Mifery is trodden on by many;
And being low, never reliev'd by any.
Lie quietly and hear a little more,
Nay, do not ftruggle, for thou shalt not rife:
To make thee hate the hunting of the Boar,
Unlike my felf, thou hear'ft me moralize,
Applying this, to that, and fo, to so;
For Love can comment upon every Woe.
Where did I leave? No matter where (quoth he)
Leave me, and then the Story aptly Ends:
The Night is spent. Why, what of that? (quoth fhe)
I am (quoth he) expected of my Friends.
And now 'tis dark, and going I shall fall.
In Night (quoth fhe) Defire fees best of all.
But if thou fall, Oh, then imagine this,
The Earth in Love with thee, thy Footing trips,
And all is but to rob thee of a Kifs.
Rich Preys make rich Men Thieves, fo do thy Lips
Make modeft Dian cloudy and forlorn,
Left she should steal a Kifs, and die forfworn.
Now of this dark Night I perceive the Reason,
Cynthia for Shame obfcures her Silver Shrine,
Till forging Nature be condemn'd of Treason,
For ftealing Moulds from Heaven, that were divine,
Wherein the fram'd thee in high Heaven's Despite,
To shame the Sun by Day, and her by Night.
And therefore hath fhe brib'd the Destinies
To cross the curious Workmanship of Nature;
To mingle Beauty with Infirmities,
And pure Perfection with impure Defeature;
Making it fubject to the Tyranny
Of fad Mifchances, and much Mifery.
As burning Fever, Agues pale and Faint,
Life-poisoning Peftilence, and Frenzies Woad,
The Marrow-eating Sickness, whofe Attaint
Disorder breeds by heating of the Blood:
Surfeits, Impofthumes, Grief, and damn'd Defpair,
Swear Nature's Death for framing thee fo fair.
And not the leaft of all these Maladies,
But in one Minute's Sight brings Beauty under:
Both Favour, Savour, Hue and Qualities,
Whereat th' imperial Gazer late did wonder,
Are on the fudden wafted, thaw'd, and done,
As mountain Snow melts with the Mid-day Sun.
Therefore, despite of fruitless Chastity,
Love-lacking Veftals, and self-loving Nuns,
Thus on the Earth would breed a Scarcity,
And barren Dearth of Daughters and of Sons,
Be prodigal. The Lamp that burns by Night,
Dries up his Oil, to lend the World his Light.
What is thy Body, but a fwallowing Grave,
Seeming to bury that Posterity,
Which by the Rights of Time thou needs must have,
If thou destroy them not in their Obfcurity?
If fo, the World will hold the in difdain,
Sith in thy Pride so fair a Hope is flain.
So in thy felf, thy felf art made away,
A Mischief worse, than civil home-bred Strife,
Or theirs, whofe defperate Hands themselves do flay,
Or Butchers Sire, that raves his Son of Life.
Foul-cankering Ruft the hidden Treasure frets;
But Gold, that's put to Ufe, more Gold begets.
Nay then, quoth Adon, you will fall again
In o your idle over-handled Theam;
The Kifs I gave you is beftow'd in vain,
And all in vain you flrive against the Stream.
For by this black-fac'd Night, Defires foul Nurse,
Your Treatife makes me like you worfe and worse.
If Love hath lent you twenty thousand Tongues,
And every Tongue more moving than your own,
Bewitching like the wanton Mermaids Songs,
Yet from mine Ear the tempting Tune is blown.
For know, my Heart ftands armed in my Ear,
And will not let a falfe Sound enter there :
Left the deceiving Harmony fhould run
Into the quiet Clofure of my Breast;
And then my little Heart were quite undone,
In his Bed-chamber to be barr'd of Reft.
No, Lady, no, my Heart longs not to groan,
But foundly fleeps, while now it fleeps alone.
What have you urg'd, that I cannot reprove?
The Path is fmooth, that leadeth unto Danger.
I hate not Love, but your Device in Love,
That lends Embracements unto every Stranger.
You do it for Increase. O ftrange Excufe!
When Reason is the Bawd to Luft's Abufe.
Call it not Love, for Love to Heaven is fled,
Since fweating Luft on Earth ufurps his Name;
Under whofe fimple Semblance he hath fed
Upon fresh Beauty, blotting it with Blame:
Which the hot Tyrant ftains, and foon bereaves,
As Caterpillars do the tender Leaves.
Love comforteth like Sun-fhine after Rain;
But Luft's Effect is Tempeft after Sun :
Love's gentle Spring doth always fresh remain;
Luft's Winter comes, e'er Summer half be done.
Love furfeits not; Luft like a Glutton dies:
Love is all Truth; Luft full of forged Lyes.
More I could tell, but more I dare not say;
The Text is old, the Orator too green :
Therefore in Sadnefs now I will away,
My Face is full of Shame, my Heart of Teen:
Mine Ears, that to your wanton Calls attended,
Do burn themfelves for having fo offended.
With this, he breaketh from the fweet Embrace
Of thofe fair Arms, which bound him to her Breast:
And homeward thro the dark Lanes runs apace;
Leaves Love upon her back deeply diftrefs'd.
Look how a bright Star fhooteth from the Sky,
So glides he in the Night from Venus' Eye.
Which after him fhe darts, as One on fhore
Gazing upon a late embarked Friend,
Till the wild Waves will have him feen no more,
Whofe Ridges with the meeting Clouds contend:
So did the mercilefs and pitchy Night,
Fold in the Object, that did feed her Sight.
Whereat amaz'd, as One that unaware
Hath dropt a precious Jewel in the Flood;
Or ftonish'd, as Night-Wanderers often are,
Their Light blown out in fome miftruftful Wood:
E'en fo confounded in the dark fhe lay,
Having loft the fair Difcovery of her Way.
And now she beats her Heart, whereat it groans,
That all the neighbour Caves, as feeming troubled,
Make verbal Repetition of her Moans:
Paflion on Paffion deeply is redoubled.
Ay me! fhe cries, and twenty times, Woe! Woe!
And twenty Eccho's twenty times cry fo.
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