That so thou art, because thou must Believe love speaks it not, but lust; And this their flattery does commend Thee chiefly for their pleasure's end. I am not jealous of thy faith, Or will be, for the axiom saith: He that doth suspect does haste A gentle mind to be unchaste. No, live thee to thy self, and keep Thy thoughts as cold as is thy sleep, And let thy dreams be only fed With this, that I am in thy bed; And thou, then turning in that sphere, Waking shalt find me sleeping there. But yet if boundless lust must scale Thy fortress, and will needs prevail, And wildly force a passage in, Banish consent, and 'tis no sin Of thine; so Lucrece fell and the Chaste Syracusian Cyane. So Medullina fell; yet none Of these had imputation For the least trespass, 'cause the mind Here was not with the act combin'd. _The body sins not, 'tis the will That makes the action, good or ill._ And if thy fall should this way come, Triumph in such a martyrdom. I will not over-long enlarge To thee this my religious charge. Take this compression, so by this Means I shall know what other kiss Is mixed with mine, and truly know, Returning, if't be mine or no: Keep it till then; and now, my spouse, For my wished safety pay thy vows And prayers to Venus; if it please The great blue ruler of the seas, Not many full-faced moons shall wane, Lean-horn'd, before I come again As one triumphant, when I find In thee all faith of womankind. Nor would I have thee think that thou Had'st power thyself to keep this vow, But, having 'scaped temptation's shelf, Know virtue taught thee, not thyself. _Queen of Ithaca_, Penelope. _Incubi_, adulterous spirits. _Cyane_, a nymph of Syracuse, ravished by her father whom (and herself) she slew. _Medullina_, a Roman virgin who endured a like fate. _Compression_, embrace. 466. TO HIS KINSMAN, SIR THOS. SOAME. Seeing thee, Soame, I see a goodly man, And in that good a great patrician. Next to which two, among the city powers And thrones, thyself one of those senators; Not wearing purple only for the show, As many conscripts of the city do, But for true service, worthy of that gown, The golden chain, too, and the civic crown. _Conscripts_, "patres conscripti," aldermen. 467. TO BLOSSOMS. Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, Why do ye fall so fast? Your date is not so past But you may stay yet here a while, To blush and gently smile; And go at last. What! were ye born to be An hour or half's delight, And so to bid good-night? 'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth Merely to show your worth, And lose you quite.