The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 2/My Fate

by Abraham Cowley

MY FATE.

Go bid the needle his dear North forsake,
To which with trembling reverence it does bend;
Go bid the stones a journey upwards make;
Go bid th' ambitious flame no more ascend:
And, when these false to their own motions prove,
Then shall I cease thee, thee alone, to love.

The fast-link'd chain of everlasting Fate
Does nothing tie more strong than me to you;
My fixt love hangs not on your love or hate,
But will be still the same, whate'er you do:
You cannot kill my love with your disdain;
Wound it you may, and make it live in pain.

Me, mine example, let the Stoicks use,
Their sad and cruel doctrine to maintain;
Let all predestinators me produce,
Who struggle with eternal bonds in vain:
This fire I'm born to—but ’tis she must tell,
Whether 't be beams of heaven or flames of hell.

You, who men's fortunes in their faces read,
To find out mine, look not, alas! on me;
But mark her face, and all the features heed;
For only there is writ my destiny:
Or, if stars shew it, gaze not on the skies;
But study the astrology of her eyes.

If thou find there kind and propitious rays,
What Mars or Saturn threaten I'll not fear;
I well believe the fate of mortal days
Is writ in heaven; but oh, my heaven is there.
What can men learn from stars they scarce can see?
Two great lights rule the world, and her two, me.

 

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