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What do I mean! What thoughts do me misguide! As well upon a staff may witches ride
Their fancied journeys in the air,
As I sail round the ocean in this Chair!
'Tis true! But yet this Chair, which here you see, (For all its quiet now, and gravity)
Has wandered, and has travelled more
Than ever beast, or fish, or bird, or ever tree, before! In every air, and every sea, 't has been!
'T has compassed all the earth; and all the heavens 't has seen!
Let not the Pope's itself, with this compare!
The pious Wand'rers' fleet, saved from the flame,
A squadron of immortal Nymphs became !
Nor has the first poetic ship of Greece
(Though now a star she so triumphant show, And guide her sailing successors below; Bright as her ancient freight, the shining Fleece !) Yet, to this day, a quiet harbour found! The tide of heaven still carries her around. Only DRAKE'S sacred vessel (which before
Had done, and had seen, more
Than these have done, or seen,
E'en since they goddesses, and this a star has been),
Is made the seat of rest at last!
The World will do 't! For Curiosity
An old wheel of that chariot to see;
Yet what could that say more, than these remains of
Great relic! Thou too, in this port of ease,
The breath of Fame, like an auspicious gale,
The Straits of Time too narrow are for thee!
And steer the endless course of vast Eternity!
TELL me not of a face that 's fair,
Though, if I were to take my choice,
The only argument can move
The glories of you Ladies be
Else I'm a Servant to the Glass
That's with Canary lined!
WHY 's my friend so melancholy?
Wealth and women make men mad!
Does thy Mistress seem to fly thee?
If, at first, She does deny thee
She shews her coyness but to try thee;
Drown thy thoughts in wine!
Try again; and don't give over!
Ply her! She's thine own! She 's thine own! Cowardice undoes a Lover!
They are tyrants, if you moan!
If not thyself, nor love, can move her;
If thy courtship can't invite her Nor to condescend, nor to bend; Thy only wisdom is to slight her, And her beauty discommend. Such a niceness will requite her! Yet if thy love will not end; Love thyself, and friend!
'Tis true, I never was in love;
But now I mean to be!
For there's no art
Can shield a heart
From love's supremacy.
Though, in my nonage, I have seen
I had not age, nor wit, to ken
Those virtues which, though thinly set, In others are admired,
In thee, are all together met;
Which make thee so desired,
That though I never was in love,
Thyself and parts,
Above my arts,
Have drawr. my heart to thee.