The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 2/Counsel

by Abraham Cowley

COUNSEL.

Gently, ah gently, madam, touch
The wound which you yourself have made;
That pain must needs be very much,
Which makes me of your hand afraid.
Cordials of pity give me now,
For I too weak for purgings grow.

Do but a while with patience stay
(For counsel yet will do no good)
Till time, and rest, and Heaven, allay
The violent burnings of my blood;
For what effect from this can flow,
To chide men drunk, for being so?

Perhaps the physick 's good you give,
But ne'er to me can useful prove;
Medicines may cure, but not revive;
And I'm not sick, but dead in love.
In Love's hell, not his world, am I;
At once I live, am dead, and die.

What new-found rhetorick is thine ?
Ev'n thy dissuasions me persuade,
And thy great power does clearest shine,
When thy commands are disobey'd.
In vain thou bidd'st me to forbear;
Obedience were rebellion here.

Thy tongue comes in, as if it meant
Against thine eyes t' assist my heart;
But different far was his intent,
For straight the traitor took their part:
And by this new foe I'm bereft
Of all that little which was left.

The act, I must confess, was wise
As a dishonest act could be:
Well knew the tongue, alas! your eyes
Would be too strong for that and me;
And part o' th' triumph chose to get,
Rather than be a part of it.

 

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