The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 2/Dialogue
DIALOGUE.
She. What have we done? what cruel passion mov'd thee,
Thus to ruin her that lov'd thee?
Me thou'st robb'd; but what art thou
Thyself the richer now?
Shame succeeds the short-liv'd pleasure;
So soon is spent, and gone, this thy ill-gotten treasure!
Thus to ruin her that lov'd thee?
Me thou'st robb'd; but what art thou
Thyself the richer now?
Shame succeeds the short-liv'd pleasure;
So soon is spent, and gone, this thy ill-gotten treasure!
He. We have done no harm; nor was it theft in me,
But noblest charity in thee.
I'll the well-gotten pleasure
Safe in my memory treasure:
What though the flower itself do waste,
The essence from it drawn does long and sweeter last.
But noblest charity in thee.
I'll the well-gotten pleasure
Safe in my memory treasure:
What though the flower itself do waste,
The essence from it drawn does long and sweeter last.
She. No: I'm undone; my honour thou hast slain,
And nothing can restore't again.
Art and labour to bestow,
Upon the carcase of it now,
Is but t' embalm a body dead;
The figure may remain, the life and beauty's fled.
And nothing can restore't again.
Art and labour to bestow,
Upon the carcase of it now,
Is but t' embalm a body dead;
The figure may remain, the life and beauty's fled.
He. Never, my dear, was honour yet undone
By Love, but Indiscretion.
To th' wise it all things does allow;
And cares not What we do, but How.
Like tapers shut in ancient urns,
Unless it let-in air, for ever shines and burns.
By Love, but Indiscretion.
To th' wise it all things does allow;
And cares not What we do, but How.
Like tapers shut in ancient urns,
Unless it let-in air, for ever shines and burns.
She. Thou first, perhaps, who didst the fault commit,
Wilt make thy wicked boast of it;
For men, with Roman pride, above
The conquest do the triumph love;
Nor think a perfect victory gain'd,
Unless they through the streets their captive lead enchain'd.
Wilt make thy wicked boast of it;
For men, with Roman pride, above
The conquest do the triumph love;
Nor think a perfect victory gain'd,
Unless they through the streets their captive lead enchain'd.
He. Whoe'er his secret joys has open laid,
The bawd to his own wife is made;
Beside, what boast is left for me,
Whose whole wealth's a gift from thee?
’Tis you the conqueror are, ’tis you
Who have not only ta'en, but bound and gagg'd me too.
The bawd to his own wife is made;
Beside, what boast is left for me,
Whose whole wealth's a gift from thee?
’Tis you the conqueror are, ’tis you
Who have not only ta'en, but bound and gagg'd me too.
She. Though publick punishment we escape, the sin
Will rack and torture us within:
Guilt and sin our bosom bears;
And, though fair yet the fruit appears,
That worm which now the core does waste,
When long 't has gnaw'd within, will break the skin at last.
Will rack and torture us within:
Guilt and sin our bosom bears;
And, though fair yet the fruit appears,
That worm which now the core does waste,
When long 't has gnaw'd within, will break the skin at last.
He. That thirsty drink, that hungry food, I sought,
That wounded balm is all my fault;
And thou in pity didst apply,
The kind and only remedy:
The cause absolves the crime; since me
So mighty force did move, so mighty goodness thee.
That wounded balm is all my fault;
And thou in pity didst apply,
The kind and only remedy:
The cause absolves the crime; since me
So mighty force did move, so mighty goodness thee.
She. Curse on thine arts! methinks I hate thee now;
And yet I'm sure I love thee too!
I'm angry; but my wrath will prove
More innocent than did thy love.
Thou hast this day undone me quite;
Yet wilt undo me more shouldst thou not come at night.
And yet I'm sure I love thee too!
I'm angry; but my wrath will prove
More innocent than did thy love.
Thou hast this day undone me quite;
Yet wilt undo me more shouldst thou not come at night.