POEM: A REMEDY FOR LOVE

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And when their faces made me sick, Mopsa would come, with face of brick, A little heated in the fire, And break the neck of my desire. Now from their face I turn mine eyes, But (cruel panthers!) they surprise Me with their breath, that incense sweet, Which only for the gods is meet, And jointly from them doth respire, Like both the Indies set on fire: Which so oercomes mans ravished sense, That souls, to follow it, fly hence. No such-like smell you if you range To th Stocks, or Cornhills square Excho-whit, Too-whoo, Descending through her oboe nose, Did that distemper soon compose.

Philoclea and Pamela sweet, By chance, in one great house did meet; And meeting, did so join in heart, That th one from th other could not part: And who indeed (not made of stones) Would separate such lovely ones? The one is beautiful, and fair As orient pearls and rubies are; And sweet as, after gentle showers, The breath is of some thousand flowers: For due proportion, such an air Circles the other, and so fair, That it her brownness beautifies, And doth enchant the wisest eyes.

How oft have I been reft of sense, By gazing on their excellence, But meeting Mopsa in my way, And looking on her face of clay, Been healed, and cured, and made as sound, As though I neer had had a wound? And when in tables of my heart, Love wrought such things as bred my smart, Mopsa would come, with face of clout, And in an instant wipe them out.

Have you not seen, on some great day, Two goodly horses, white and bay, Which were so beauteous in their pride, You knew not which to choose or ride? Such are these two; you scarce can tell, Which is the daintier bonny belle; And they are such, as, by my troth, I had been sick with love of both, And might have sadly said, Good-night Discretion and good fortune quite; But that young Cupid, my old master, Presented me a sovereign plaster: Mopsa! evn Mopsa! (precious pet) Whose lips of marble, teeth of jet, Are spells and charms of strong defence, To conjure down concupiscence.

And, therefore, O thou precious owl, The wise Minervas only fowl; What, at thy shrine, shall I devise To offer up a sacrifice? Hang AEsculapius, and Apollo, And Ovid, with his precious shallow. Mopsa is loves best medicine, True water to a lovers wine. Nay, shes the yellow antidote, Both bred and born to cut Loves throat: Be but my second, and stand by, Mopsa, and Ill them both defy; And all else of those gallant races, Who wear infection in their faces; For thy face (that Medusas shield!) Will bring me safe out of the field.

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  • 字号:   默认