THE DISSEMBLER.
87
A river, ere it meet the sea,
As well might stay its source,
As my love can his course,
Unless it join and mix with thee:
If any end or stop of it be found,
We know the flood runs still, though under ground.
As well might stay its source,
As my love can his course,
Unless it join and mix with thee:
If any end or stop of it be found,
We know the flood runs still, though under ground.
THE DISSEMBLER.
Unhurt, untouch'd, did I complain,
And terrify'd all others with the pain:
But now I feel the mighty evil;
Ah! there's no fooling with the devil!
So, wanton men, whilst others they would fright,
Themselves have met a real sprite.
And terrify'd all others with the pain:
But now I feel the mighty evil;
Ah! there's no fooling with the devil!
So, wanton men, whilst others they would fright,
Themselves have met a real sprite.
I thought, I'll swear, an handsome lye
Had been no sin at all in poetry;
But now I suffer an arrest,
For words were spoke by me in jest.
Dull, sottish God of love! and can it be
Thou understandst not raillery?
Had been no sin at all in poetry;
But now I suffer an arrest,
For words were spoke by me in jest.
Dull, sottish God of love! and can it be
Thou understandst not raillery?
Darts, and wounds, and flame, and heat,
I nam'd but for the rhyme, or the conceit;
Nor meant my verse should raised be
To this sad fame of prophesy:
Truth gives a dull propriety to my style,
And all the metaphors does spoil.
I nam'd but for the rhyme, or the conceit;
Nor meant my verse should raised be
To this sad fame of prophesy:
Truth gives a dull propriety to my style,
And all the metaphors does spoil.
