I dreamed that I was God, the great All-seeing;
The ceaseless urge was mine
That fires the throbbing, blood-red heart of Being,
The Alchemist divine.
I saw and knew that lesser good is evil,
The evil lesser good;
That love can change the basest hell-upheaval
To human brotherhood.

I heard the tramp of onward-marching nations,
I saw their mirth and tears;
I felt the passions of the generations
That thundered down the years;
I clashed as foe with foeman, fire-hearted,
I heard the war-guns boom,

A QUARRELI WITH LOUE

O H that I could write a story
Of Loues dealing with affection:
How hee makes the spirit sory,
That is toucht with his infection.

But he doth so closely winde him
In the plaits of will ill pleased,
That the heart can neuer finde him
Till it be too much diseased.

Tis a subtill kinde of spirit,
Of a venome kinde of nature;
That can like a conny ferret,
Creepe vnwares vpon a creature.

Neuer eye that can beholde it,
Though it worketh first by seeing;

A FAREWELL TO CONCEIPT

Farewell Conceit: Coceit no more wel fare:
Hope feeds the heart with humours, to no end:
Fortune is false, in dealing of her share:
Virtue in heauen must only seeke a friend.

Adieu, Desire. Desire, no more adieu
Will hath no leasure to regard desart:
Love findes, too late, the prouerbe all too true,
That Beauties eyes stoode neuer in her heart.

Away, poore Loue. Loue, seek no more a way
Vnto thy woe, where wishing is no wealth:
In nightes deepe darkenesse neuer looke for day

AD ISPLEASURE AGAINST L OUE .

Love is witty, but not wise,
When he stares on Beauties eyes;
Finding wonders in conceit
That doe fall out but deceit.

Wit is stable, but not staied,
When his senses are betraied;
Where too late Sorrow doth proue
Beauty makes a foole of Loue.

Youth is forward, but too fond.
When he falles in Cupids bond;
Where repentance lets him see
Fancy fast is neuer free.

Age is cunning, but vnkinde,
When he once growes Cupid -blinde:
For when Beauty is vntoward,

A FAREWELL TO LOUE

Farewell Loue, and louing folly
All thy thoughts are too vnholly:
Beauty strikes thee full of blindenesse
And then kils thee with vnkindnesse.

Farewell wit, and witty reason
All betrai'd by Fancies treason:
Loue hath of all joy bereft thee.
And to Sorrow only left thee.

Farewell will, and wilfull fancy,
All in daunger of a frenzy,
Love to Beauties bowe hath wonne thee
And togither all vndone thee.

Farewell Beauty Sorrowes agent;
Farewell Sorrow, Patience pagent;

Inscrib'd to the Right Honourable the Lady ELIZABETH GERMAIN .

I Sought a patroness, but sought in vain,
Apollo whisper'd in my ear — " Germain . —
I know her not — " Your reason's somewhat odd;
" Who knows his patron, now! reply'd the God.
" Men write, to me , and to the world , unknown;
" Then steal great names to shield them from the Town.
" Detected worth , like beauty disarray'd,
" To covert flies, of praise itself afraid;
" Should she refuse to patronize your lays,
" In vengeance write a Volume in her praise .

Nor reigns Ambition in bold man alone;
Soft female hearts the rude Invader own,
But, there indeed, it deals in nicer things
Than routing armies , and dethroning kings .
Attend, and you discern it in the Fair
Conduct a finger , or reclaim a hair ;
Or roll the lucid orbit of an eye ;
Or in full joy elaborate a sigh .

The Sex we honour, tho' their faults we blame;
Nay thank their faults for such a fruitful theme.
A theme, fair — — ! doubly kind to me,
Since fatarizing those , is praising thee;

To the Right Honourable

Sir Spencer compton.

Round some fair tree th' ambitious wood bine grows,
And breathes her sweets on the supporting boughs:
So sweet the verse , th' ambitious verse, should be,
(O! pardon mine) that hopes support from Thee,
Thee, Compton , born o'er Senates to preside,
Their dignity to raise, their councils guide;
Deep to discern, and widely to survey,
And Kingdoms fates, without ambition, weigh;
Of distant Virtues nice extremes to blend,
The crown's asserter, and the people 's Friend:

To the Right Honourable

Mr. Dodington .

Long, Dodington, in debt, I long have sought
To ease the burden of my grateful thought;
And now a poet's gratitude you see,
Grant him two favours, and he'll ask for three ;
For whose the present glory, or the gain?
You give protection, I a worthless strain.
You love, and feel the poet's sacred flame,
And know the basis of a solid fame;
Tho' prone to like, yet cautious to commend,
You read with all the malice of a friend ;
Nor favour my attempts that way alone,

My Muse, proceed, and reach thy destin'd end;
Tho' toil , and danger the bold task attend.
Heroes , and Gods make other poems fine,
Plain Satire calls for sense in ev'ry line;
Then, to what swarms thy faults I dare expose?
All friends to vice and folly , are thy foes;
When such the Foe, a war eternal wage,
'Tis most Ill-nature to repress thy rage;
And if these strains some nobler Muse excite,
I'll glory in the Verse I did not write.

So weak are human kind by nature made,
Or to such weakness by their vice betray'd,