Down stormy passions, down; no more
Let your rude waves invade the shore
Where blushing reason sits and hides
Essex twice made unhappy by a Wife,
Yet Marry'd worse unto the Peoples strife:
He who by two Divorces did untie
VVhen your fair hand receives this little book
You must not there for prose or verses look.
Those empty regions which within you see,
O all ye Nations record,
The Praises of the Lord;
Ye people through the Universe,
Your Makers praise rehearse.
Tell me you stars that our affections move,
Why made ye me that cruell one to love?
Why burnes my heart her scorned sacrifice,
But is it true, the Court mislik't the Play,
That Christ-Church and the Arts have lost the day;
That Ignoramus should so far excell,
In this small Character is sent
My Loves eternal Monument.
Whil'st we shall live, know, this chain'd Heart
Is our affections counter-part.
I see that wreath which doth the wearer arm
'Gainst the quick strokes of thunder, is no charm
To keep off deaths pale dart. For, Johnson then
Not that I would instruct or tutor you
What is a Wifes behest, or Husbands due,
Give I this Widdow-Wife. Your early date
Fair one, why cannot you an old man love?
He may as useful, and more constant prove.
Experience shews you that maturer years