Classic Poem

Love! in what poyson is thy Dart
Dipt, when it makes a bleeding heart?
None know, but they who feel the smart.

It is not thou, but we are blind,
And our corporeal eyes (we find)
Dazle the Opticks of our Mind . . .

How happy he that loves not, lives!
Him neither Hope nor Fear deceives,
To Fortune who no Hostage gives.

How unconcern'd in things to come!
If here uneasie, finds at Rome ,
At Paris , or Madrid his Home.

Secure from low, and private Ends,
His Life, his Zeal, his Wealth attends
His Prince, his Country, and his Friends.

Danger, and Honour are his Joy;
But a fond Wife, or wanton Boy,
May all those Generous Thoughts destroy . . .

Old Rome of Children took no care,
They with their Friends their beds did share,
Secure, t'adopt a hopeful Heir.

Love drowsie days, and stormy nights
Makes, and breaks Friendship, whose delights
Feed, but not glut our Appetites.

Well chosen Friendship, the most noble
Of Vertues, all our joys makes double,
And into halves divides our trouble.

But when the unlucky knot we tye,
Care, Avarice, Fear, and Jealousie
Make Friendship languish till it dye.

The Wolf, the Lyon, and the Bear
When they their prey in pieces tear,
To quarrel with themselves forbear.

Yet timerous Deer, and harmless Sheep
When Love into their veins doth creep,
That law of Nature cease to keep.

Who then can blame the Amorous Boy,
Who the Fair Helen to enjoy,
To quench his own, set fire on Troy?

Such is the world's preposterous fate,
Amongst all Creatures, mortal hate
Love (though immortal) doth Create.