The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 2/Counsel
COUNSEL.
Gently, ah gently, madam, touchThe 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, allayThe 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 meantAgainst 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 bereftOf all that little which was left.
The act, I must confess, was wiseAs a dishonest act could be:Well knew the tongue, alas! your eyesWould be too strong for that and me;And part o' th' triumph chose to get,Rather than be a part of it.