Reason! in faith, thou art well served! that still
Wouldst brabbling be with SENSE and LOVE in me.
I rather wisht thee climb the Muses' hill,
Or reach the fruit of Nature's choicest tree,
Or seek heaven's course, or heaven's inside to see.
Why shouldst thou toil, our thorny soil to till?
Leave SENSE! and those which SENSE'S objects be.
Deal thou with powers! of thoughts, leave LOVE to will!
But thou wouldst needs fight both with LOVE and SENSE
With sword of wit, giving wounds of dispraise;
Till downright blows did foil thy cunning fence.
For soon as they strake thee with STELLA'S rays;
REASON! thou kneel'dst; and offeredst straight to prove
By reason good, good reason her to love.
XI.
In truth, O LOVE! with what a boyish kind
Thou dost proceed in thy most serious ways;
That when the heaven to thee his best displays,
Yet of that best, thou leav'st the best behind:
For like a child, that some fair book doth find,
With gilded leaves or coloured vellum plays;
Or, at the most, on some fair picture stays:
But never heeds the fruit of writer's mind.
So when thou saw'st in Nature's cabinet,
STELLA: thou straight look'st babies in her eyes;
In her cheek's pit, thou didst thy pitfold set;
And in her breast, bo-peep or couching lies:
Playing and shining in each outward part.
But, fool! seek'st not to get into her heart!
