48
COWLEY'S POEMS.
Lest too much goodness make her throw
Her love upon a fate too low.
Forbid it, Heaven! my life should be
Weigh'd with her least conveniency:
No, let me perish rather with my grief,
Than, to her disadvantage, find relief!
Her love upon a fate too low.
Forbid it, Heaven! my life should be
Weigh'd with her least conveniency:
No, let me perish rather with my grief,
Than, to her disadvantage, find relief!
Yet, when I die, my last breath shall
Grow bold, and plainly tell her all:
Like covetous men, who ne'er descry
Their dear hid-treasures till they die.
Ah, fairest maid! how will it cheer
My ghost, to get from thee a tear!
But take heed; for, if me thou pitiest then,
Twenty to one but I shall live again.
Grow bold, and plainly tell her all:
Like covetous men, who ne'er descry
Their dear hid-treasures till they die.
Ah, fairest maid! how will it cheer
My ghost, to get from thee a tear!
But take heed; for, if me thou pitiest then,
Twenty to one but I shall live again.
THE GIVEN HEART.
I wonder what those lovers mean, who say
They 'ave given their hearts away:
Some good kind lover, tell me how;
For mine is but a torment to me now.
They 'ave given their hearts away:
Some good kind lover, tell me how;
For mine is but a torment to me now.
If so it be one place both hearts contain,
For what do they complain?
What courtesy can Love do more,
Than to join hearts that parted were before?
For what do they complain?
What courtesy can Love do more,
Than to join hearts that parted were before?
