No; thou'rt a fool, I'll swear, if e're thou grant;
Much of my veneration thou must want,
When once thy kindness puts my ignorance out;
For a learn'd Age is always least devout.
Keep still thy distance; for at once to me
Goddess and woman too, thou canst not be;
Thou'rt queen of all that sees thee; and as such
Must neither tyrannize, nor yield too much;
Such freedoms give as may admit command,
But keep the forts and magazines in hand.
Thou'rt yet a whole world to me, and dost fill
My large ambition; but 'tis dangerous still,
Lest I like the Pellæan Prince1 should be,
And weep for other worlds having conquer'd thee;
When Love has taken all thou hast away,
His strength by too much riches will decay.
Thou in my fancy dost much higher stand,
Than women can be place'd by Nature's hand;
And I must needs, I'm sure, a loser be,
To change thee, as thou'rt there, for very thee.
Thy sweetness is so much within me plac'd,
That shouldst thou nectar give, 'twould spoil the taste.
Beauty at first moves wonder, and delight;
'Tis Nature's juggling trick to cheat the sight.
We admire it whilst unknown; but after, more
Admire ourselves for liking it before.
Love, like a greedy hawk, if we give way,
Does over-gorge himself, with his own prey;
Of very hopes a surfeit he'll sustain,
Unless by fears he cast them up again:
His spirit and sweetness dangers keep alone;
If once he lose his sting, he grows a drone.
 Alexander the Great wept that there were no new worlds to conquer.