"Are we the two that have so long
Each other's loves embraced;
And never did Affection wrong
Nor think a thought unchaste?
And shall, O shall we, now, our matchless Joy
For one poor touch destroy?
And all Content forego?
O no, my Dear!
Sweet Heart, forbear!
I will not lose thee so!"
"For should we do a deed so base
As it can never be,
I could no more have seen thy face!
Nor wouldst thou look on me!
I should, of all our Passions grow ashamed;
And blush, when thou art named.
Yea, though thou constant wert,
I being nought,
A jealous thought
Would still torment my heart.
"What goodly thing, do we obtain
If I consent to thee?
Rare joys we lose, and what we gain
But common pleasures be.
Yea, 'those,' some say, 'who are to lust inclined,
Drive Love out of the mind!
And so much Reason miss
That they admire
What kind of fire
A chaste affection is.'"
"No vulgar bliss I aimèd at,
When first I heard thee woo;
I'll never prize a Man for that
Which every groom can do.
If that be love, the basest men that be
Do love as well as we!
Who, if we bear us well,
Do pass them then,
As Angels, men
In glory do excel."
Whilst thus she spake, a cruel Band
Of Passions seized my soul;
And what one seemèd to command,
Another did control.
'Twixt Good and Ill, I did, divided lie.
But as I raised mine eye,
In her, methought, I saw
Those Virtues shine,
Whose rays divine
First gave Desire, a Law.
With that, I felt the blush of shame
Into my cheek return.
And Love did, with a chaster flame,
Within my bosom burn.
My Soul, her light of Reason had renewed;
And by those beams, I viewed
How slily Lust ensnares!
And all the fires
Of ill Desires,
I quenchèd with my tears.
Go, wantons, now, and flout at this!
My coldness, if you list!
Vain fools! You never knew the bliss
That doth in Love consist!
You sigh, and weep, and labour to enjoy
A Shade, a Dream, a Toy!
Poor Folly, you pursue!
And are unblest;
Since every beast,
In pleasure, equals you!
You never took so rich content
In all your wanton play;
As this to me, hath pleasure lent,
That chaste, She went away.
For as some sins, which we committed have,
Sharp stings behind them leave;
Whereby we vexèd are:
So, Ill supprest,
Begetteth rest,
And peace without compare.
But lest this conquest slight you make,
Which on Myself I won;
Twelve labours I will undertake
With Jove's victorious son,
Ere I will such another brunt endure!
For had Diana pure,
Thus tempted been to sin;
That Queen of Night
(With her chaste light)
Had scarce a maiden been!