| |
| LOVE’S a fire ever burning, | |
| Mounting high, though often turning; | |
| Quench it, ye more is flaming; | |
| None can stifle it by taming. | |
| |
| Lust’s a fire, still consuming, | 5 |
| Lighting never, ever fuming; | |
| Quench it, it is straight aswaging; | |
| Give it vent, it’s ever raging. | |
| |
| Love’s a spirit ever acting, | |
| Nought for love, but love exacting; | 10 |
| Boundlesse in its search and notion, | |
| Restlesse in its course and motion. | |
| |
| Lust’s a spirit ever acting | |
| For vile ends, base work exacting, | |
| Lawes impossible affecting; | 15 |
| Nought but blind obedience expecting. | |
| |
| Love’s a starre grosse hearts refining, | |
| Clouded sometimes, and then shining; | |
| And this fortune telling ever, | |
| He who loveth ceaseth never. | 20 |
| |
| Lust’s a wandring starre ne’re shining | |
| For our good, but still designing | |
| With her false lights to deceive us, | |
| And of truth and peace bereave us. | |
| |
| Love’s a river ever flowing, | 25 |
| Fruit and plenty still bestowing; | |
| Wafting us into an ocean | |
| Where we drowne in love’s devotion. | |
| |
| Lust’s a river overflowing | |
| All her banks, to our undoing, | 30 |
| And a sea that’s ever raging— | |
| Neither heat nor thirst aswaging. | |
| |
| Love’s a garden where sweet flowers | |
| Yield their sent and shady bowers, | |
| Ready are to fill with pleasure | 35 |
| Those who to love are at leisure. | |
| |
| Lust’s a garden void of flowers, | |
| Where wild weeds make bainfull bowers; | |
| Fitted to destroy at leisure | |
| Those whose deity is pleasure. | 40 |
| |
| Love’s a fort, whose highest tower | |
| Keeps a strict watch over hower; | |
| Hath its parts so well combining, | |
| As it fears not force nor mining. | |
| |
| Lust’s a fortresse, ever paying | 45 |
| Those who trust it with betraying; | |
| And to yield so quickly signing, | |
| As it feares not force nor mining. | |
| |
| Love’s a temple, where is stor’d | |
| But one saint to be ador’d; | 50 |
| And whose altars feed their fire | |
| With heart single and intire. | |
| |
| Lust’s a temple, where the devill | |
| Under every shape that’s evil | |
| Is ador’d; and whose fires | 55 |
| Black and scorch with foul desires. | |
| |
| Love is musick, where the meeter | |
| Makes the harmony the sweeter; | |
| If yt tell a heavenly story, | |
| Then ye musick turnes to glory. | 60 |
| |
| Lust is musick, where the poet | |
| Contributes so much unto it, | |
| As at ye best what was but madnesse | |
| Ends in anguish and in sadnesse. | |
| |
| Love’s a master, ever pleasing, | 65 |
| Bonds untying, burthens easing; | |
| Chide he may, but never rages; | |
| One whose very work is wages. | |
| |
| Lust is twenty thousand masters, | |
| Breaking heads and giving plaisters; | 70 |
| Fierce and foolish in commanding, | |
| To his bargaine never standing. | |
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