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Against FruitionAgainst Fruition
No; thou`rt a fool, I`ll swear, if e`er thou grant;
Much of my veneration thou must want,
When once thy kindness puts my ignorance out,
For a learn`d age is always least devout.
Keep still thy distance; for at once to me
Goddess and woman too thou canst not be;
Thou`rt queen of all that sees thee, and as such
Must neither tyrannize nor yield too much;
Such freedom give as may admit command,
But keep the forts and magazines in thine hand.
Thou`rt yet a whole world to me, and dost fill
My large ambition; but `tis dang`rous still,
Lest I like the Pellæan prince* should be,
And weep for other worlds, having conquered thee.
When Love has taken all thou hast away,
His strength by too much riches will decay.
Thou in my fancy dost much higher stand
Than women can be placed by Nature`s hand;
And I must needs, I`m sure, a loser be,
To change thee, as thou`rt there, for very thee.
Thy sweetness is so much within me placed,
That shouldst thou nectar give, `twould spoil the taste.
Beauty at first moves wonder and delight;
`Tis Nature`s juggling trick to cheat the sight;
We admire it, whilst unknown, but after more
Admire ourselves for liking it before.
Love, like a greedy hawk, if we give way,
Does overgorge himself with his own prey;
Of very hopes a surfeit he`ll sustain
Unless by fears he cast them up again:
His spirit and sweetness dangers keep alone;
If once he lose his sting, he grows a drone.
`Tis true, I’ve loved already three or four,
And shall three or four hundred more;
I’ll love each fair-one that I see,
Till I found one at last that shall love me.
That shall my Canaan be, the fatal soil
That ends my wanderings and my toil:
I’ll settle there, and happy grow;
The country does with milk and honey flow.
The needle trembles so, and turns about,
Till it the northern point find out;
But constant then and fix’d does prove,
Fix’d, that his dearest pole as soon may move.
Then may my vessel torn and shipwreck’d be,
If it put forth again to sea!
It never more abroad shall roam,
Though’t could next voyage bring the Indies home.
But I must sweat in love, and labour yet,
Till I a competency get;
They’re slothful fools who leave a trade,
Till they a moderate fortune by’t have made,
Variety I ask not; give me one
To live perpetually upon;
The person Love does to us fit,
Like manna, has the taste of all in it.
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