The Pestilence of Love does heat :
Or Hatred's hidden Ulcer eat.
The Pestilence of Love does heat :
Or Hatred's hidden Ulcer eat.
To Love and Grief the fatal writ was 'signed;
(Those nobler weaknesses of human kind,
From which those powers that issued the decree,
Although immortal, found they were not free),
That they, to whom his breast still open lies,
In gentle passions should his death disguise:
And leave succeeding ages cause to mourn,
As long as Grief shall weep, or Love shall burn.
My vegetable Love should grow
Vaster then Empires, and more slow.
So, to make all Rivals vain,
Now I crown thee with my Love:
Crown me with thy Love again,
And we both shall Monarchs prove.
My Love is of a birth as rare As 'tis for object strange and high It was begotten by despair Upon Impossibility.
Ametas
Think'st Thou that this Love can stand,
Whilst Thou still dost say me nay?
When we have run our passions' heat,
Love hither makes his best retreat:
The gods, that mortal beauty chase,
Still in a tree did end their race;
Apollo hunted Daphne so
Only that she might laurel grow;
And Pan did after Syrinx speed
Not as a nymph, but for a reed.
Come little Infant, Love me now,
While thine unsuspected years
Clear thine aged Fathers brow
From cold Jealousie and Fears.
Gentler times for Love are ment:
Who for parting pleasure strain
Gather Roses in the rain,
Wet themselves and spoil their Sent.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories