Farewell and Defiance to Love
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ove and thy vain employs, awayFrom this too oft deluded breast!No longer will I court thy stay,To be my bosom's teazing guest.Thou treacherous medicine, reckoned pure,Thou quackery of the harassed heart,That kills what it pretends to cure, Life's mountebank thou art. With nostrums vain of boasted powers,That, ta'en, a worse disorder leave;An asp hid in a group of flowers,That bites and stings when few perceive;Thou mock-truce to the troubled mind,Leading it more in sorrow's way,Freedom, that leaves us more confined, I bid thee hence away. Dost taunt, and deem thy power beyondThe resolution reason gave?Tut! Falsity hath snapt each bond,That kept me once thy quiet slave,And made thy snare a spider's thread,Which een my breath can break in twain;Nor will I be, like Sampson, led To trust thy wiles again. I took thee as my staff to guideMe on the road I did pursue,And when my weakness most reliedUpon its strength it broke in two.I took thee as my friendly hostThat counsel might in dangers show,But when I needed thee the most I found thou wert my foe. Tempt me no more with rosy cheeks,Nor daze my reason with bright eyes;I'm wearied with thy painted freaks,And sicken at such vanities:Be roses fine as eer they will,They, with the meanest, fade and die,And eyes, though thronged with darts to kill, Share like mortality.Feed the young bard, that madly sipsHis nectar-draughts from folly's flowers,Bright eyes, fair cheeks, and ruby lips,Till muses melt to honey showers;Lure him to thrum thy empty lays,While flattery listens to the chimes,Till words themselves grow sick with praise And stop for want of rhymes. Let such be still thy paramours,And chaunt love's old and idle tune,Robbing the spring of all its flowers,And heaven of all her stars and moon,To gild with dazzling similesBlind folly's vain and empty lay:I'm sobered from such phantasies, So get thee hence away. Nor bid me sigh for mine own cost,Nor count its loss, for mine annoy,Nor say my stubbornness hath lostA paradise of dainty joy:I'll not believe thee, till I knowThat sober reason turns an ape,And acts the harlequin, to show That cares in every shape, Heart-achings, sighs, and grief-wrung tears,Shame-blushes at betrayed distress,Dissembled smiles, and jealous fears,Are nought but real happiness:Then will I mourn what now I brave,And suffer Celia's quirks to be(Like a poor fate-bewilder'd slave,) The rulers of my destiny. I'll weep and sigh wheneer she willsTo frown, and when she deigns to smileIt shall be cure for all my ills,And, foolish still, I'll laugh the while;But till that comes, I'll bless the rulesExperience taught, and deem it wiseTo hold thee as the game of fools, And all thy tricks despise.
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