12
COWLEY'S POEMS.
WRITTEN IN JUICE OF LEMON.
Whilst what I write I do not see,
I dare thus, ev'n to you, write poetry.
Ah, foolish Muse! which dost so high aspire,
And know'st her judgment well,
How much it does thy power excel,
Yet dar'st be read by, thy just doom, the fire.
I dare thus, ev'n to you, write poetry.
Ah, foolish Muse! which dost so high aspire,
And know'st her judgment well,
How much it does thy power excel,
Yet dar'st be read by, thy just doom, the fire.
Alas! thou think'st thyself secure,
Because thy form is innocent and pure:
Like hypocrites, which seem unspotted here ;
But, when they sadly come to die,
And the last fire their truth must try,
Scrawl'd o'er like thee, and blotted, they appear.
Because thy form is innocent and pure:
Like hypocrites, which seem unspotted here ;
But, when they sadly come to die,
And the last fire their truth must try,
Scrawl'd o'er like thee, and blotted, they appear.
Go then, but reverently go,
And, since thou needs must sin, confess it too:
Confess 't, and with humility clothe thy shame;
For thou, who else must burned be
An heretick, if she pardon thee,
Mayst like a martyr then enjoy the flame.
And, since thou needs must sin, confess it too:
Confess 't, and with humility clothe thy shame;
For thou, who else must burned be
An heretick, if she pardon thee,
Mayst like a martyr then enjoy the flame.
But, if her wisdom grow severe,
And suffer not her goodness to be there;
If her large mercies cruelly' it restrain;
Be not discourag'd, but require
A more gentle ordeal fire,
And bid her by Love's flames read it again.
And suffer not her goodness to be there;
If her large mercies cruelly' it restrain;
Be not discourag'd, but require
A more gentle ordeal fire,
And bid her by Love's flames read it again.
