A Dialogue
Man. Sweetest Saviour, if my soul Were but worth the having,
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Man. Sweetest Saviour, if my soul Were but worth the having,
WHEN God at first made Man, Having a glass of blessings standing by—
LOVE bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back, Guilty of dust and sin.
FLY envious Time, till thou run out thy race, Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours,
BLEST pair of Sirens, pledges of Heav’ns joy, Sphear-born harmonious Sisters, Voice, and Vers,
O’re the smooth enameld green Where no print of step hath been,
THE Star that bids the Shepherd fold, Now the top of Heav’n doth hold,
SWEET Echo, sweetest Nymph that liv’st unseen Within thy airy shell
WHEN I consider how my light is spent, E’re half my days, in this dark world and wide,
LAWRENCE of vertuous Father vertuous Son, Now that the Fields are dank, and ways are mire,
CYRIACK, whose Grandsire on the Royal Bench Of Brittish Themis, with no mean applause
METHOUGHT I saw my late espousèd Saint Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave,
TELL me not, Sweet, I am unkind, That from the nunnery
IF to be absent were to be Away from thee;
SHE beat the happy pavèment— By such a star made firmament,
AMARANTHA sweet and fair, Ah, braid no more that shining hair!
O THOU that swing’st upon the waving hair Of some well-fillèd oaten beard,
WHEN Love with unconfinèd wings Hovers within my gates,
SEE how the flowers, as at parade, Under their colours stand display’d:
SEE with what simplicity This nymph begins her golden days!
WHERE the remote Bermudas ride In the ocean’s bosom unespied,
ENOUGH; and leave the rest to Fame! ’Tis to commend her, but to name.
WHETHER on Ida’s shady brow Or in the chambers of the East,
O THOU with dewy locks, who lookest down Through the clear windows of the morning, turn