Classic Poem

ACT . II S CEN . V.

To her Florina and Malthora . Mal .

Your Highness here alone? Luc .
But so long only
As gives you leave to ask. What? sad Florina?
I'd thought your Soul had dwelt within it self,
Been single a full presence, and that you
Had set your self up your own Trophy now
Full of true Joy. Flo .
'Tis hard to cast off that
That we call Passion, we may veyl, and cloud it,
But 'twill break out at last. True Joy is that
Which now I cannot have. Luc .
How so Florina? Flo .
True Joy consists in Looks, and Words, and Letters,
Which now an Absence, equall to Divorce,
Hath wholly barr'd us of. Luc .
Looks, Words, and Letters!
Alas they are but only so much Air
Diversly form'd, & so the food of that
Changeable Creature; not the Viands of
True constant Lovers. Flo .
But, if I see not,
Is not my Joy grown less, who could not love
'Till I first saw? and if I hear not, can
I have the perfect Harmony of pleasure,
Who something ow to words that I first yeelded? Luc .
Who ever yet was won by words? we come
Conquer'd, and when we grant, we do not yeeld,
But do confess that we did yeeld before.
But be those Senses some Contentments, Madam,
You must not yet make them the great, and true
Essentiall Joy that only can consist
In the bright perfect Union of two Spirits. Mal .
But seeing those Spirits cannot work, but by
The Organs of the Body, 'tis requir'd
That (to the full perfection of this Joy)
Bodies should be near-Neighbours too. Flo .
I must
Confess that I subscribe unto the Princess,
And somwhat too to you: the Presence may
Conveigh, and fill, and polish Joy; but yet
To see, or hear, cannot be Joyes themselves.
And where this Presence is deny'd, the Soul
Makes use of higher, and more subtle means,
And by the strength of thought creates a Presence
Where there is none. Mal .
Alas! how we doe lose
Our selves in speculation of our Loves,
As if they were unbody'd Essences! Luc .
I would
Eumela now were here; Shee'd tell us, All
Is the same Joy, as Love from sight, or thought,
Is the same Love; and that Love's turning to
Either of them, is only but a Needle
Turning to severall points, no diverse flame,
But only divers degrees of the self-same.
Come Madam let's away and seek her out.