Verse > Anthologies > Edward Farr, comp. > Jacobean Poetry
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Edward Farr, ed.  Select Poetry of the Reign of King James the First.  1847.
 
Stanzas
XIII. Anonymous
 
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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