268
Tixall Poetry.
The Perfect Lover.
He cannot worthily be styled a lover,
That will his noble enterprise give over
For any opposition, or who is
Too covetous of comforts or of blis:
For Tis meane love, meerly by favours made,
That growes ith sunshine, withers in the shade.
A true and perfect lover in distress
Stands firme, nor is he puft with happiness.
He aymes at no reward, nor vainly affects
Favours, nor for disfavour disrespects.
He rather flyes his ends, since by their gaine,
He loseth all the glory of his paine.
He doth not love whom accidents can move,
Or hath a reason but his love to love.
For he that truly loves can ne're reflect
On his owne interest, but ineffect
That will his noble enterprise give over
For any opposition, or who is
Too covetous of comforts or of blis:
For Tis meane love, meerly by favours made,
That growes ith sunshine, withers in the shade.
A true and perfect lover in distress
Stands firme, nor is he puft with happiness.
He aymes at no reward, nor vainly affects
Favours, nor for disfavour disrespects.
He rather flyes his ends, since by their gaine,
He loseth all the glory of his paine.
He doth not love whom accidents can move,
Or hath a reason but his love to love.
For he that truly loves can ne're reflect
On his owne interest, but ineffect
