Tixall Poetry/The Power of Love
V.
The Power of Love.
Att the sight of my Phillis through every partA spring-tide of ioy doth flow to my hart,Which quickens each pulse, and swels every vaine,Yet all my delights are still mingled with paine.
Soe strange a distemper sure love cannot bring,To my knowledge love was a quieter thing,Soe gentle, and tame, that it never was knowneSoe much as to wake me when I lay alone.
But the boy is much grown, and soe alter'd of late,He becomes a more furious passion then hate: Since my Phillis returns to the empire of harts,He has new-strung his bow, and sharpened his darts,And strictly the rights of his crown to maintaine,He breakes every hart, and turnes every braine.