Classic Poem

Ode

I

Fond Love, deliver up thy Bow,
I am becom more Love than thou;
I am a wanton growne, and wild,
Much lesse a Man, and more a Child,
From Venus borne, of chaster kind,
A better Archer, though as blind.

II

Surrender without more adoe,
I am both King and Subject too,
I will comand, but must obey,
I am the Hunter, and the Prey,
I vanquish, yet am over come,
And sentencing, receive my doom.

III

No springing Beauty scapes my dart,
And ev'ry ripe one wounds my heart;
Thus whilst I wound, I wounded am,
And, firing others, turne to flame,
To shew how farr Love can combine
The Mortal part with the Divine.

IV

Faith, quit thy Empire, and com downe,
That thou and I may share the Crowne,
I've try'de the worst thy Armes can doe,
Come then, and tast my power too,
Which (howsoere it may fall short)
Will doubtlesse prove the better sport.

V

Yet doe not; for in feild and towne,
The females are soe loving growne,
So kind, or else soe lustfull, wee
Can neither erre, though neither see;
Keepe then thy owne dominions, Lad,
Two Loves would make all women mad.