Thou both at once, a Friend, and Mistress art,
With Love, and Faith, to gain, and keep a Heart;
Who Pleasure dost of either Kind afford,
The best Companion art, at Bed, and Board;
We Two, by thy Twin-Sex, may make up Three,
But better Company, than Two to be,
I neither way, can weary prove of Thee;
Who art at once, my Mistress, and my Friend,
Which Thee does not disparage, but commend;
So, for thy Credit, not thy Shame, is it,
Thou art a sociable Hermaphrodite;
Canst entertain the Body, and the Mind,

I.

To take my Heart, and my Friend from me too,
 Was to my Love, but double Injury;
If you will not your Love on me bestow,
 Give me at least again, his Amity:

II.

Since from me now my Liberty you take,
 Then for it, something let me have of thine;
My Heart, or Friend, sure, shou'd you give me back;
 My Gift refuse, since you my Love decline:

III.

Since only, but for my True Love to thee,
 I never yet cou'd have been false to him;
My Falsness to him then, shou'd purchase me,
 For my Love more to you, more you Esteem.

IV.

I.

Know , Love is not by Precept taught,
Nor what it is, can Reason prove,
Above Expression, above Thought,
Instinct, by which, our Senses move;
Which, by denying, is confest,
And is express'd, by Dumbness, best:

II.

By good Sense, is but worse made out,
Prov'd best, but by Men's Speaking Eyes.
Whilst Reason brings it more in Doubt,
And it, our Madness justifies;
By Kindness, without Sense, made good,

If Love's a Blessing, (as it is) you say,
We for it ought not then to Pray, but Pray;
Since Blessings, as they'd go for more Divine,
Shou'd more be gain'd by Pray'r, or Praise, than Coin:
For Bribes are Benefactors worst Disgrace;
Divine Grace we, by Buying it, debase:
For Love to Beauty, there's no Bribe, but Praise.
Love-Offerings, but Sacrilege wou'd prove,
To Buy the Blessings of the God of Love:
Since by the Presents, Love's Devoto's make,
To She-Divinities, for their Love's Sake,
Honour we give 'em, from 'em more to take.

I.

My Love, makes me conceal my Love;
My Pain, makes me to her cry out,
Whilst she says, Silence Love shou'd prove;
Tho' that Proof more shou'd cause her Doubt.
Yet must I hold my Tongue, (I find)
That she may better know my Mind.

II.

Then 'tis all one, to hide my Pain,
Or own to her, my Killing-Grief;
Begging her Love, her Scorn I gain;
Not asking it, can't hope Relief:
Yet wou'd I have my Love deny'd,

I.

In Love, Procrastination is,
As 'tis in Charity, a Crime,
And Kindnesses turn Injuries,
For which, we Patience lose, and Time;
The Gift is lost in its Delay,
Which costs us Life, the dearest Pay:

II.

And that Death is the most severe,
For which, in Pain, we longest wait,
As Punishments, ev'n Mercies are,
But by their falling on us, strait;
For Joys grow Griefs by lingering,
By Mens vain Hopes, true Sorrows bring.

III.

Delay grows the worst Torturer,
Under pretence of Mercy too,
Whilst sudden Death's our Rescuer,

The blind God has, my blind Devotion still,
In whom I've so much Faith, I've no Free-Will.
So 'tis not this, or t'other Goddess I
Adore alone, or call my Destiny;
But best, my true Faith, and Devotion prove,
By my blind Faith, in the blind God of Love;
The Grace of some bright Angel to procure,
In Love to make my Call, Election, sure;
I ne'r Election of my Goddess make,
Nor for my Fate, one Mortal Angel take:
But love the whole Sex, most implicitly,
My Zeal and Faith but more to justifie,
To th' God of Love, and his Divinity:

Friendship , at once, is Love and Honour too,
Which does a Heart, without Design, bestow;
Or Hopes of a Return, by which a Trade
Or Trucking Commerce, Bart'ring Love is made:
So Love's a Bond-slave, and must Duty pay,
Makes Man, ev'n those he shou'd command, obey,
In spight of Reason, whether 'twill, or no;
But Friendship, Voluntary Good will do,
Is Kindness, without Obligation, so.
Love does a Mercenary Slave appear,
Whilst Friendship, is a Noble Volunteer.
Love does but for Reward, a Benefit,
Generous Friendship is undone by it:

To Thee, Beginner of Beginnings, who,
First made the World, does it continue too;
To Thee, first Cause of Ingenuity,
In teaching Men, with Art, to Feign and Lye,
Shou'd I have first began, my Poetry;
To Thee, I shou'd have written first, to prove
Some Sense, who first didst me to Writing move;
And not the Love of Honour, or of Fame,
Which, as more sought, but more becomes our Shame,
And are more forfeited, as more our Claim;
But first to Thee, all Mankind ought to Write,
Who giv'st, at once, Instruction and Delight,

'T was in a conquered town — we warred in Spain;
I was a gay lieutenant, rash and young,
Loving to lisp the Andalusian tongue
With jet-eyed charmers who to list would deign.

Oft by old Alcazars, with mandolin strung,
I would not warble long my amorous strain,
And, for my blue eyes' sake, one beauty hung
Over her balcon's gloom a silken skein.

Deluded boy, with fatuous pride elate,
I could not deem her love to danger led;
Yet in that Spanish heart a world of hate
For me in each soft kiss more surely spread