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Will thinke thy griefe was over-pay'd, or yet
Bate the world one Sigh, of so just a debt?
But she is gone! Repine now, if you dare;
Like Heav'ns unlicenc'd Fooles, all punish'd are
For Nature as for crimes; yet cannot choose
But mourne for ev'ry excellence wee loose;
Though still commanded to a tame content;
To thinke no good was given us, but lent:
And a fond ridle in Philosophy,
Perswades us too; the Virtuous never dye;
That all the ills, which wee in absence finde
Concerne the Eye-sight only, not the Minde:
But Lovers (whose wise Sences take delight
In warme contaction, and in reall sight)
Are not with leane imagination fed,
Or satisfi'd, with thinking on the Dead.
'Tis fit wee seeke her then; but he that finds
Her out, must enter friendship with the Winds;
Enquire their dwelling, and uncertaine walks;
Whither they blow, from their forsaken Stalks
Flow'rs that are gone, ere they are smelt? or how
Dispose o'th sweeter Blossoms of the Bough?
Bate the world one Sigh, of so just a debt?
But she is gone! Repine now, if you dare;
Like Heav'ns unlicenc'd Fooles, all punish'd are
For Nature as for crimes; yet cannot choose
But mourne for ev'ry excellence wee loose;
Though still commanded to a tame content;
To thinke no good was given us, but lent:
And a fond ridle in Philosophy,
Perswades us too; the Virtuous never dye;
That all the ills, which wee in absence finde
Concerne the Eye-sight only, not the Minde:
But Lovers (whose wise Sences take delight
In warme contaction, and in reall sight)
Are not with leane imagination fed,
Or satisfi'd, with thinking on the Dead.
'Tis fit wee seeke her then; but he that finds
Her out, must enter friendship with the Winds;
Enquire their dwelling, and uncertaine walks;
Whither they blow, from their forsaken Stalks
Flow'rs that are gone, ere they are smelt? or how
Dispose o'th sweeter Blossoms of the Bough?
⟨For⟩
