To Phillis.
PHillis' twas love that injur'd you,
And on that rock your Thirsis threw,
Who for proud Coelia could have dy'd,
Whilst you no less accus'd his pride.
Poems &c. written by Mr. Ed. Waller ... ; and printed by a copy of his own hand-writing ; all the lyrick poems in this booke were set by Mr. Henry Lawes ...
About this Item
- Title
- Poems &c. written by Mr. Ed. Waller ... ; and printed by a copy of his own hand-writing ; all the lyrick poems in this booke were set by Mr. Henry Lawes ...
- Author
- Waller, Edmund, 1606-1687.
- Publication
- London :: Printed by I.N. for Hu. Mosley ...,
- 1645.
- Rights/Permissions
-
This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. Searching, reading, printing, or downloading EEBO-TCP texts is reserved for the authorized users of these project partner institutions. Permission must be granted for subsequent distribution, in print or electronically, of this text, in whole or in part. Please contact project staff at eebotcp-info@umich.edu for further information or permissions.
- Link to this Item
-
http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A67344.0001.001
- Cite this Item
-
"Poems &c. written by Mr. Ed. Waller ... ; and printed by a copy of his own hand-writing ; all the lyrick poems in this booke were set by Mr. Henry Lawes ..." In the digital collection Early English Books Online 2. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A67344.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed June 14, 2024.
Pages
Page 133
Fond Love his darts at random throws,
And nothing springs from what he sows▪
From foes discharg'd as often meet
The shining points of arrowes fleet
In the wide ayre creating fire,
As soules that joyne in one desire.
Love made the lovely Venus burne
In vaine, and for the cold Youth mourne,
Who the pursuite of churlish beasts
Prefer'd to sleeping on her breasts.
Love makes so many hearts the prize
Of the bright Carlisles conqu'ring eyes,
Which shee regards no more then they
The teares of lesser beauties weigh:
So have I seene the lost clouds powre
Into the Sea an useless showre;
And the vext saylers curse the rain,
For which poor shepheards pray'd in vain.
Page 134
Then (Phillis) since our passions are
Govern'd by chance, and not the care
But sport of heaven, which takes delight
To looke upon this Parthian fight
Of Love, still flying or in chase,
Never incountring face to face;
No more to Love wee'l sacrifice,
But to the best of Deities;
And let our hearts which Love disjoyn'd,
By his kind Mother bee combin'd.