Love turn'd to Hatred.

Will not Love one Minute more, I fwear,

No not a Minute; not a Sigh or Tear

Thou gett'ft from me, or one kind Look agen,
Tho' thou fhou'dft court me to't, and woud'ft begin.
I will not think of thee but as Men do

Of Debts and Sins, and then I'll curse thee too:
For thy fake Woman shall be now to me

Less welcome, than at Midnight Ghosts shall be:
I'll hate fo perfectly, that it fhall be
Treason to love that Man that loves a She;
Nay, I will hate the very good, I fwear,
That's in thy Sex, because it do's lie there;
Their very Virtue, Grace, Difcourfe and Wit,
And all for thee; what, wilt thou love me yet?

The careless Lover.

Ever believe me if I love,

know what 'tis, or mean to prove;

And yet in Faith I lye, I do,

And he's extreamly handfome too;
She's fair, the's wond'rous fair,

But I care not who knows it,

E'er I'll die for Love, I fairly will forgo it.

This Heat of Hope, or Cold of Fear,
My foolish Heart cou'd never bear :
One Sigh imprison'd ruins more
Than Earthquakes have done heretofore:
She's fair, &c.

When I am hungry I do eat,

And cut no fingers 'ftead of Meat;
Nor with much gazing on her Face,
Do e'er rife hungry from the Place:
She's fair, &c.

A gentle round fill'd to the Brink,
To this and t'other Friend I drink;
And if 'tis nam'd another's Health,
I never make it hers by ftealth:
She's fair, &c.

Black Fryars to me, and old Whitehall,
Is even as much as is the Fall
Of Fountains on a pathlefs Grove,
And nourishes as much as my Love:
She's fair, &c.

I vifit, talk, do Bufinefs, play,
And for a need laugh out a Day:
Who does not thus in Cupid's School,
He makes not Love, but plays the Fool:
She's fair, &c,

Love and Debt alike troublefome.

TH

HIS one Requeft I make to him that fits the Clouds above,

That I were freely out of Debt, as I am out of Love; Then for to dance, to drink and fing, I thou'd be very willing;

I fhould not owe one Lafs a Kifs, nor ne'er a Knave a

Shilling.

'Tis only being in Love and Debt, that breaks us of our Reft.

And he that is quite out of both, of all the World is bleft: He fees the golden Age wherein all Things were free and

common;

He eats, he drinks, he takes his reft, he fears no Man nor Woman.

Tho' Crafus compafled great Wealth, yet he ftill craved

more,.

He was as needy a Beggar ftill, as goes from Door to Door. Tho' Ovid was a merry Man, Love ever kept him fad; He was as far from Happiness, as one that is ftark mad. Our Merchant he in Goods is rich, and full of Gold and Treasure;

But when he thinks upon his Debts, that Thought deftroys his Pleasure.

Our Courtier thinks that he's preferr'd, whom every Man envies;

When Love fo rumbles in his Pate, no Sleep comes in his Eyes.

Our Gallant's Cafe is worst of all, he lies fo juft betwixt them;

For he's in Love, and he's in Debt, and knows not which most vex him.

But he that can eat Beef, and feed on Bread which is fo brown,

May fatisfie his Appetite, and owe no Man a Crown: And he that is content with Laffes cloathed in plain Woollen,

May cool his Heat in every Place, he need not to be fullen, Nor figh for Love of Lady fair; for this each wife Man knows,

As good Stuff under Flannel lies, as under filken Cloaths.

J. S.

SONG.

SONG.

Prethee fend me back my Heart,
Since I cannot have thine:

I me

For if from Yours you will not part,
Why then shoud'ft thou have mine?

Yet now I think on't, let it lie,
To find it were in vain,

For thou'ft a Thief in either Eye
Wou'd fteal it back again.

Why fhou'd two Hearts in one Breast lie,
And yet not lodge together?

Oh Love! where is thy fympathie,

If thus our Breafts thou fever?

But Love is fuch a Mystery
I cannot find it out:

For when I think I'm best resolv'd,
I then am in most doubt.

Then farewel Care, and farewel Wo,
I will no longer pine:

For I'll believe I have her Heart,
As much as the has mine.

To a Lady that forbad to love before Company.

W Not Fan not Muff to hold as heretofore?,

HAT no more Favours, not a Ribbon more,

Must all the little Bliffes then be left,

And what was once Love's Gift, become our Theft ?

May

May we not look our felves into a Trance,
Teach our Souls parley at our Eyes, not glance,
Not touch the Hand, not by foft wringing there,
Whisper a Love that only yes can hear?
Not free a Sigh, a Sigh that's there for you,
Dear must I love you, and not love you too?
Be wife, nice Fair: for fooner fhall they trace
The feather'd Chorifters from Place to Place,
By Prints they make in th' Air, and fooner fay
By what right Line the last Star made his Way
That fled from Heav'n to Earth, then guess to know
How our Loves first did spring, or how they grow.
Love is all Spirit, Fairies fooner may

Be taken tardy, when they night-tricks play,
Than we, we are too dull and lumpifh rather,
Wou'd they cou'd find us both in Bed together.

Y

The guiltless Inconftant.

My first Love, whom all Beauties did adorn,

Firing my Heart, fuppreft it with her Scorn;

Since like the Tinder in my Breaft it lies,
By every Sparkle made a Sacrifice,

Each wanton Eye can kindle my Defire,
And that is free to all which was entire,"
Defiring more by the Defire I loft,

As thofe that in Confumptions linger moft.
And now my wandring Thoughts are not confin'd
Unto one Woman, but to Womankind :
This for her Shape I love, that for her Face;
This for her Gesture, or some other Grace:
And where that none of all these Things I find,
I chufe her by the Kernel not the Rhind:
And fo I hope, fince my firft Hope is gone,
To find in many what I loft in one;

And