To Love

	O! numquam pro me satis indignate cupido
	O Love! how cold and slow to take my part,
	Thou idle wanderer about my heart.
	Why thy old faithful soldier wilt thou see
	Oppressed in my own tents? They murder me;
5	Thy flames consume, thy arrows pierce thy friends.
	Rather on foes pursue more noble ends.
	Achilles’ sword would generously bestow
	A cure as certain, as it gave the blow.
	Hunters who follow flying game give o’er
10	When the prey’s caught; hope still leads on before.
	We thine own slaves feel thy tyrannic blows,
	Whilst thy tame hand’s unmoved against thy foes.
	On men disarmed how can you gallant prove,
	And I was long ago disarmed by Love.
15	Millions of dull men live, and scornful maids:
	We’ll own Love valiant when he these invades.
	Rome from each corner of the wide world snatched
	A laurel, or’t had been to this day thatched.
	But the old soldier has his resting place,
20	And the good battered horse is turned to grass.
	The harassed whore, who lived a wretch to please,
	Has leave to be a bawd and take her ease.
	For me then, who have freely spent my blood,
	Love, in thy service and so boldly stood
25	In Celia’s trenches, were’t not wisely done
	Ev’n to retire and live at peace at home?
	No! Might I gain a godhead to disclaim
	My glorious title to my endless flame,
	Divinity with scorn I would forswear,
30	Such sweet, dear, tempting devils women are.
	Whene’er those flames grow faint, I quickly find
	A fierce, black storm pour down upon my mind.
	Headlong I’m hurled like horsemen who in vain
	Their fury-foaming coursers would restrain,
35	As ships, just when the harbour they attain,
	Are snatched by sudden blasts to sea again,
	So Love’s fantastic storms reduce my heart,
	Half-rescued, and the god resumes his dart.
	Strike here, this undefended bosom wound,
40	And for so brave a conquest be renowned.
	Shafts fly so fast to me from every part,
	You’ll scarce discern your quiver from my heart.
	What wretch can bear a livelong night’s dull rest
	Or think himself in lazy slumbers blest?
45	Fool! Is not sleep the image of pale death?
	There’s time for rest when fate has stopped your breath.
	Me may my soft-deluding dear deceive;
	I’m happy in my hopes whilst I believe.
	Now let her flatter, then as fondly chide.
50	Often may I enjoy, oft be denied.
	With doubtful steps the god of war does move
	By thy example led, ambiguous Love.
	Blown to and fro like down from thy own wing,
	Who knows when joy or anguish thou wilt bring?
55	Yet at thy mother’s and thy slave’s request,
	Fix an eternal empire in my breast,
	And let th’inconstant charming sex,
	Whose wilful scorn does lovers sex,
	Submit their hearts before thy throne,
60	The vassal world is then thy own.