you

Though what faid had not been true,
If spoke by any else but you;

Your fpeech will govern destiny,

And Fate will change rather than you should lye.

'Tis true, if human Reason were the guide,
Reason, methinks, was on my fide;
But that's a guide, alas! we must resign,
When th' authority 's divine.

She said, she said herself it would be so ;
And I, bold unbeliever! answer'd no:
Never fo justly, fure, before,

Error the name of blindness bore;
For, whatfoe'er the question be,
There's no man that has eyes would bet for me.

If Truth itself (as other angels do

When they defcend to human view) In a material form would deign to shine, "Twould imitate or borrow thine:

So dazzling bright, yet so transparent clear,
So well-proportion'd, would the parts appear!
Happy the eye which Truth could fee
Cloath'd in a shape like thee;

But happier far the eye

Which could thy fhape naked like Truth espy!

Yet this loft wager cofts me nothing more

Than what I ow'd to thee before:

Who would not venture for that debt to play,
Which he were bound howe'er to pay?

3

If

If Nature gave me power to write in verse,
She gave it me thy praises to rehearse:
Thy wondrous beauty and thy wit
Has fuch a fovereign right to it,

That no man's Muse for public vent is free,
Till she has paid her customs firft to thee.

BATHING IN THE RIVER.

HE fish around her crowded, as they do

TH
To the

To the falfe light that treacherous fishers shew,

And all with as much ease might taken be,
As fhe at first took me ;

For ne'er did light fo clear

Among the waves appear,

Though every night the fun himself set there.

Why to mute fish should'st thou thyself discover,
And not to me, thy no less filent lover?
As fome from men their buried gold commit
To ghofts, that have no use of it;

Half their rich treafures fo

Maids bury; and, for aught we know,

(Poor ignorants !) they 're mermaids all below.

The amorous waves would fain about her stay,
But ftill new amorous waves drive them away,
And with swift current to those joys they haste,
That do as fwiftly wafte:

I laugh'd the wanton play to view ;
But 'tis, alas! at land fo too,

And ftill old lovers yield the place to new. &

Kifs her, and as you part, you amorous waves
(My happier rivals, and my fellow-flaves)
Point to your flowery banks, and to her fhew
The good your bounties do;

Then tell her what your pride doth cost,

And how your use and beauty 's loft,

When rigorous winter binds you up with froft.
Tell her, her beauties and her youth, like thee,.
Hafte without stop to a devouring fea;
Where they will mix'd and undistinguish'd lie.
With all the meanest things that die;

As in the ocean thou

No privilege doft know

Above th' impurest streams that thither flow..

Tell her, kind flood! when this has made her fad,
Tell her there's yet one remedy to be had:
Shew her how thou, though long fince paft, doft find
Thyself yet ftill behind :

Marriage (fay to her) will bring
About the felf-fame thing.

But fhe, fond maid, fhuts and feals-up the fpring,

LOVE

GIVEN

OVER..

I

Tis enough; enough of time and pain

Haft thou confum'd in vain;

Leave, wretched Cowley! leave

Thyself with shadows to deceive ; :

Think that already loft which thou must never gain..

VOL. I.

Y

Three

Three of thy lustiest and thy freshest years (Tofs'd in ftorms of hopes and fears) Like helpless ships that be

Set on fire i' th' midst o' the fea,

Have all been burnt in love, and all been drown'd in

tears.

Refolve then on it, and by force or art

Free thy unlucky heart ;

Since Fate does disapprove

Th' ambition of thy love,

And not one star in heaven offers to take thy part.

If e'er I clear my heart from this defire,

If e'er it home to its breaft retire,

It ne'er fhall wander more about,

Though thousand beauties call it out:

A lover burnt like me for ever dreads the fire.

every

fmall difeafe,

The the plague, and
pox,
May come as oft as ill-fate please ;

But death and love are never found

To give a fecond wound, '

We're by thofe ferpents bit, but we 're devour'd by

thefe.

Alas! what comfort is 't that I am grown

Secure of being again o'erthrown?

Since fuch an enemy needs not fear
Left any elfe fhould quarter there,

Who has not only fack'd, but quite burnt down, the

town.

A POEM

A

ON

POEM

THE LATE

CIVIL

WAR*.

THE PUBLISHER TO THE READER. 1679.

Eeting accidentally with this poem in manufcript, and being informed that it was a piece of the incomparable Mr. A. C's, I thought it unjust to hide fuch a treasure from the world. I remembered that our author, in his preface to his works †, makes mention of fome poems written by him on the late civil war, of which the following copy is queftionably a part. In his most imperfect and unfinished pieces, you will discover the hand of fo great a mafter. And (whatever his own modefty might have advised to the contrary) there is not one careless stroke of his but what should be kept facred to pofterity. He could write nothing that was not worth the preserving, being habitually a poet, and always infpired. In this piece the judicious reader will find the turn of the verfe to be his; the fame copious and lively imagery of fancy, the fame warmth of paffion and delicacy of wit, that sparkles in all his writings. And certainly

*This and the two following Poems are not given with certainty as Cowley's. They have been afcribed to him; are poffibly genuine; and therefore are preferved in this collection. N.

↑ See p. 16 of this Volume.