My Heart held out, against your Face, and Eyes,
But cou'd no more, against your Breech, and Thighs,
Which they, both took, and wounded, by Surprize;
Who, till then, did (as 'twere,) in Ambush ly,
For my poor Life, at least, my Liberty;
So secret Enemies, more Mischief do,
The less still they, their Pow'r to do it, show,
And it less openly, they let us know;
By that Assassinate, in Ambuscade,
My Freedom, Peace, and Life, were soon betray'd;
My Conqu'ress so, you, like the Parthian were,
Running from me, but out of spight, not fear,

O Thou in whom we live and move,
Whose love is law, whose law is love,
Whose present spirit waits to fill
The soul that comes to do thy will!

Unto our waiting spirits teach
Thy love beyond the power of speech,
And bid us feel with joyful awe
The omnipresence of thy law.

That law doth give to truth and right,
Howe'er despised, a conquering might,
And makes each fondly cherished lie
And boasting wrong to cower and die.

Its patient working doth fulfill
Man's hope and God's all perfect will,

Supreme disposer of the heart!
Thou, since the world was made,
Hast the best fruits of holiness
To holy hearts displayed.

Here, hope and faith their links unite
With love in one sweet chain;
But when all fleeting things are past,
Love shall alone remain.

O love! O true and fadeless light!
And shall it ever be,
That after all our toils and tears
Thy Sabbath we shall see?

'Mid thousand fears and dangers now
We sow our seed, with prayer,
But know that joyful hands shall reap
The shining harvests there.

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: