Tixall Poetry/Upon Mrs E. T.'s Quere by Her Eyes, Why I Was Troubled?

by unknown author

Upon Mrs E. T.'s Quere

by Her Eyes,

Why I Was Troubled?

 

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Madam, as strange a question it had prov'd,
If you had askt me if I ever lov'd.
When you drop teares, can you ere hope to finde
Any contentment in my wretched minde?
That feeles no joy but yours; shares no other griefe,
And but that you afford it, hates reliefe;
My unruly sorrowes swolne to that excess,
'Tis you alone can make them more or less.
My friendship, or experience might have showne,
How I prefer your safety to my owne;
Reach still a willing, tho' refused hand,
Altho' I fall my selfe, that you may stand.
My gratitude and conscience both must dry,
Ere I my utmost service do deny.
Trust me, or trust me not, I'me firmly fixt,
And mine from yours can never be unmixt.
I must feele all you suffer, and bemoane
Every defeature far above my owne.
For, monarch-like, you rule without dispute,
Your duty is to will, and mine to do't.
Of this hard measure I alone complayne,
Your yoke's too easy, and too loose your ray ne.
All taxes, impositions, you forbeare,
In acts of grace too (to yourselfe) severe;
That we at our owne libertys repine,
Since by our freedomes, you your owne confine.
$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$Humility, and goodness, in excess,
Are all the impietyes which you express,
And (if you'le take my counsel!) ought repress.
Justice with Mercy, Truth and Peace must kiss;
They're not so perfect where we either miss.
And your calme heart so sweetly overflowes,
That its owne interest it seldom knowes:
And when it doth, the civill war mayntaynes
Rather then succour by another's paynes.
Ah! too reserv'd, too good, too sweet, too fayre,
Tafflict your selfe, and make all else dispaire.

 

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