Tixall Poetry/To a Gentleman, That Courted Several Ladys
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To a Gentleman,
That Courted Several Ladys.
Since, Coridon, you have a hart can pay
So many sacrifices in a day,
And that you can one for her wit adore,
And then another for her beauty more,
I have no inclination to confine
Your general offering to a single shrine.
No, Coridon, I'le quit you of your vow,
You here or there may court, when, where, or how,
Your artful love your fancy shall perswade,
And when you've done, and many conquests made,
Back on your honor looke, and there you'le see,
A ruine greater than your victory.
It easy is our weak sex to betray,
But falshood still doth stain on honor lay.
A general pitty is a vertue taught,
But general love a crime was ever thought.
Nature to man does but one hart allow,
But they do multiply it to hundreds now;
And to each object, which your covetous sense
Makes you desire, you can a hart dispence.
Like those appearing spirits, form'd of air,
Which come to touch, we find no substance there.
Thus you turn cheats in love, and juglers play,
And seem to give, yet nothing give away.
Your bounty never makes your wealth grow less,
The harts you're born with, dying you possess;
Only you brought them without perjur'd stain,
But with a thousand carry them back again.
'Tis those false vows and oaths which you express
Give your love credit, and your hopes success.
Thus to your pride you injur'd trophys raise,
But they at last will wither all your bays.
Seeking to ruine, you may ruine finde;
Fortune is sometimes just as well as blind.
They'r less than child, will lend their money out,
When they both principal and interest doubt.
And men contract such debts in love, that they
Compounding, can't one of a hundred pay;
Yet from our trust they do imperious grow,
And think it glorious they so much can owe.
They boast that none shall rule their harts alone,
They'l have a commonwealth, and not a throne.
Indeed, you all doe traiterous subjects prove,
But you are excellent levellers in love:
For least that jealousy grow from mistake,
You now in common all your courtships make.
No, Coridon, had all the world been sought,
And all perfections from all persons brought;
Had Solomon his wondrous wisdom lent,
And Alexander all his courage sent;
Had Nature rifled her exhaustless store,
And all those noble heroes we adore,
To place in you what each did but enjoy,
Your fickle humour would my love destroy:
I should, as others did, your worth admire,
But never flame would take at such a fire.
So many sacrifices in a day,
And that you can one for her wit adore,
And then another for her beauty more,
I have no inclination to confine
Your general offering to a single shrine.
No, Coridon, I'le quit you of your vow,
You here or there may court, when, where, or how,
Your artful love your fancy shall perswade,
And when you've done, and many conquests made,
Back on your honor looke, and there you'le see,
A ruine greater than your victory.
It easy is our weak sex to betray,
But falshood still doth stain on honor lay.
A general pitty is a vertue taught,
But general love a crime was ever thought.
Nature to man does but one hart allow,
But they do multiply it to hundreds now;
And to each object, which your covetous sense
Makes you desire, you can a hart dispence.
Like those appearing spirits, form'd of air,
Which come to touch, we find no substance there.
Thus you turn cheats in love, and juglers play,
And seem to give, yet nothing give away.
Your bounty never makes your wealth grow less,
The harts you're born with, dying you possess;
Only you brought them without perjur'd stain,
But with a thousand carry them back again.
'Tis those false vows and oaths which you express
Give your love credit, and your hopes success.
Thus to your pride you injur'd trophys raise,
But they at last will wither all your bays.
Seeking to ruine, you may ruine finde;
Fortune is sometimes just as well as blind.
They'r less than child, will lend their money out,
When they both principal and interest doubt.
And men contract such debts in love, that they
Compounding, can't one of a hundred pay;
Yet from our trust they do imperious grow,
And think it glorious they so much can owe.
They boast that none shall rule their harts alone,
They'l have a commonwealth, and not a throne.
Indeed, you all doe traiterous subjects prove,
But you are excellent levellers in love:
For least that jealousy grow from mistake,
You now in common all your courtships make.
No, Coridon, had all the world been sought,
And all perfections from all persons brought;
Had Solomon his wondrous wisdom lent,
And Alexander all his courage sent;
Had Nature rifled her exhaustless store,
And all those noble heroes we adore,
To place in you what each did but enjoy,
Your fickle humour would my love destroy:
I should, as others did, your worth admire,
But never flame would take at such a fire.