| O my Lucasia, let us speak our Love, | |
| And think not that impertinent can be, | |
| Which to us both doth such assurance prove, | |
| And whence we find how justly we agree. | |
| |
| Before we knew the treasures of our Love, | 5 |
| Our noble aims our joys did entertain; | |
| And shall enjoyment nothing then improve? | |
| 'Twere best for us then to begin again. | |
| |
| Now we have gain'd, we must not stop, and sleep | |
| Out all the rest of our mysterious reign: | 10 |
| It is as hard and glorious to keep | |
| A victory, as it is to obtain. | |
| |
| Nay to what end did we once barter Minds, | |
| Only to know and to neglect the claim? | |
| Or (like some Wantons) our Pride pleasure finds | 15 |
| To throw away the thing at which we aim. | |
| |
| If this be all our Friendship does design, | |
| We covet not enjoyment then, but power: | |
| To our Opinion we our Bliss confine, | |
| And love to have, but not to smell, the flower. | 20 |
| |
| Ah! then let Misers bury thus their Gold, | |
| Who though they starve, no farthing will produce: | |
| But we lov'd to enjoy and to behold, | |
| And sure we cannot spend our stock by use. | |
| |
| Think not 'tis needless to repeat desires; | 25 |
| The fervent Turtles alwaies court and bill, | |
| And yet their spotless passion never tires, | |
| But does increase by repetition still. | |
| |
| Although we know we love, yet while our Soul | |
| Is thus imprison'd by the Flesh we wear, | 30 |
| There's no way left that bondage to controul, | |
| But to convey transactions through the Ear. | |
| |
| Nay, though we read our passions in the Eye, | |
| It will oblige and please to tell them too: | |
| Such joys as these by motion multiply, | 35 |
| Were't but to find that our Souls told us true. | |
| |
| Believe not then, that being now secure | |
| Of either's heart, we have no more to do: | |
| The Spheres themselves by motion do endure, | |
| And they move on by Circulation too. | 40 |
| |
| And as a River, when it once hath paid | |
| The tribute which it to the Ocean owes, | |
| Stops not, but turns, and having curl'd and play'd | |
| On its own waves, the shore it overflows: | |
| |
| So the Soul's motion does not end in bliss, | 45 |
| But on her self she scatters and dilates, | |
| And on the Object doubles till by this | |
| She finds new joys which that reflux creates. | |
| |
| But then because it cannot all contain, | |
| It seeks a vent by telling the glad news, | 50 |
| First to the Heart which did its joys obtain, | |
| Then to the Heart which did those joys produce. | |
| |
| When my Soul then doth such excursions make, | |
| Unless thy Soul delight to meet it too, | |
| What satisfaction can it give or take, | 55 |
| Thou being absent at the interview? | |
| |
| 'Tis not Distrust; for were that plea allow'd, | |
| Letters and Visits all would useless grow: | |
| Love's whole expression then would be its cloud, | |
| And it would be refin'd to nothing so. | 60 |
| |
| If I distrust, 'tis my own worth for thee, | |
| 'Tis my own fitness for a love like thine; | |
| And therefore still new evidence would see, | |
| T'assure my wonder that thou canst be mine. | |
| |
| But as the Morning-Sun to drooping Flowers, | 65 |
| As weary Travellers a Shade do find, | |
| As to the parched Violet Evening-showers; | |
| Such is from thee to me a Look that's kind. | |
| |
| But when that Look is drest in Words, 'tis like | |
| The mystick pow'r of Musick's unison; | 70 |
| Which when the finger doth one Viol strike, | |
| The other's string heaves to reflection. | |
| |
| Be kind to me, and just then to our love, | |
| To which we owe our free and dear Converse; | |
| And let not tract of Time wear or remove | 75 |
| It from the privilege of that Commerce. | |
| |
| Tyrants do banish what they can't requite: | |
| But let us never know such mean desires; | |
| But to be grateful to that Love delight | |
| Which all our joys and noble thoughts inspires. | 80 |
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