106
COWLEY'S POEMS.
DIALOGUE.
She. What have we done? what cruel passion mov'd thee,
Thus to ruin her that lov'd thee?
Me thou'st robb'd; but what art thou
Thyself the richer now?
Shame succeeds the short-liv'd pleasure;
So soon is spent, and gone, this thy ill-gotten treasure!
Thus to ruin her that lov'd thee?
Me thou'st robb'd; but what art thou
Thyself the richer now?
Shame succeeds the short-liv'd pleasure;
So soon is spent, and gone, this thy ill-gotten treasure!
He. We have done no harm; nor was it theft in me,
But noblest charity in thee.
I'll the well-gotten pleasure
Safe in my memory treasure:
What though the flower itself do waste,
The essence from it drawn does long and sweeter last.
But noblest charity in thee.
I'll the well-gotten pleasure
Safe in my memory treasure:
What though the flower itself do waste,
The essence from it drawn does long and sweeter last.
She. No: I'm undone; my honour thou hast slain,
And nothing can restore't again.
Art and labour to bestow,
Upon the carcase of it now,
Is but t' embalm a body dead;
The figure may remain, the life and beauty's fled.
And nothing can restore't again.
Art and labour to bestow,
Upon the carcase of it now,
Is but t' embalm a body dead;
The figure may remain, the life and beauty's fled.
He. Never, my dear, was honour yet undone
By Love, but Indiscretion.
By Love, but Indiscretion.
