Pallas, nor thee I call on, mankind maid, Go, cramp dull Mars, light Venus, when he snorts, Let the old boy, your son, ply his old task, Hermes, the cheater, shall not mix with us, Nor all the ladies of the Thespian lake, A beauty of that merit, that should take My Muse up by commission; no, I bring XI. EPODE. Not to know vice at all, and keep true state, Is virtue and not fate: Next to that virtue, is to know vice well, Which to effect (since no breast is so sure, Some way of entrance) we must plant a guard Of thoughts to watch and ward At th' eye and ear, the ports unto the mind, Object arrive there, but the heart, our spy, To wakeful reason, our affections' king: Will quickly taste the treason, and commit "Tis the securest policy we have, To make our sense our slave. But this true course is not embraced by many : By many? scarce by any. For either our affections do rebel, Or else the sentinel, That should ring 'larum to the heart, doth sleep; Or some great thought doth keep Whereof the loyal conscience so complains. Do several passions invade the mind, Of which usurping rank, some have thought love The first; as prone to move Most frequent tumults, horrors, and unrests, But this doth from the cloud of error grow, Which thus we over-blow. The thing they here call love is blind desire, Inconstant, like the sea, of whence 'tis born, With whom who sails, rides on the surge of fear, And boils as if he were In a continual tempest. Now, true love That is an essence far more gentle, fine, It is a golden chain let down from heaven, That falls like sleep on lovers, and combines In equal knots: this bears no brands, nor darts, To murder different hearts, But, in a calm and godlike unity, Preserves community. Oh, who is he that, in this peace, enjoys Th' elixir of all joys? A form more fresh than are the Eden bowers, And lasting as her flowers; Richer than Time, and, as Time's virtue, rare; Sober as saddest care; A fixed thought, an eye untaught to glance; Who, blest with such high chance, Would, at suggestion of a steep desire, Of all his happiness? But soft: I hear Some vicious fool draw near, That cries, we dream, and swears there's no such thing, As this chaste love we sing. Peace, Luxury! 19 thou art like one of those Who, being at sea, suppose, Because they move, the continent doth so. Though thy wild thoughts with sparrows' wings do fly, Turtles can chastely die; And yet (in this t' express ourselves more clear) We do not number here Such spirits as are only continent, Because lust's means are spent ; Or those who doubt the common mouth of fame, Is mere necessity; Nor mean we those whom vows and conscience Though we acknowledge who can so abstain, He that for love of goodness hateth ill, 19 It is simply the French luxure, then in general use. — G. Than he, which for sin's penalty forbears: But we propose a person like our Dove, A beauty of that clear and sparkling light, And turn the blackest sorrows to bright joys: All taste of bitterness, and makes the air A body so harmoniously composed, All her best symmetry in that one feature! Oh, so divine a creature Who could be false to? chiefly, when he knows The wealthy treasure of her love on him; In the full flood of her admired perfection? Would not be fearful to offend a dame Of this excelling frame? Much more a noble, and right generous mind, To virtuous moods inclined, That knows the weight of guilt: he will refrain From thoughts of such a strain, And to his sense object this sentence ever, "Man may securely sin, but safely never." |