[75 deny, _Ed:_ deny. _1650-69_] [79 dispos'd, _Ed:_ dispos'd _1650-69_] [80 obeying; _Ed:_ obeying, _1650-69_] [81 securely _1650-69:_ unpartially _A10_] [82 being _1650-69:_ having _A10_ one, _Ed:_ one _1650-69_] [83 Wee'l love her ever, _Ed:_ Wee'l leave her ever, _1650-69_, _JC:_ Would love for ever, _A10_] ELEGIE XVIII. _Loves Progress._ Who ever loves, if he do not propose The right true end of love, he's one that goes To sea for nothing but to make him sick: Love is a bear-whelp born, if we o're lick Our love, and force it new strange shapes to take, 5 We erre, and of a lump a monster make. Were not a Calf a monster that were grown Face'd like a man, though better then his own? Perfection is in unitie: preferr One woman first, and then one thing in her. 10 I, when I value gold, may think upon The ductilness, the application, The wholsomness, the ingenuitie, From rust, from soil, from fire ever free: But if I love it, 'tis because 'tis made 15 By our new nature (Use) the soul of trade. All these in women we might think upon (If women had them) and yet love but one. Can men more injure women then to say They love them for that, by which they're not they? 20 Makes virtue woman? must I cool my bloud Till I both be, and find one wise and good? May barren Angels love so. But if we Make love to woman; virtue is not she: As beauty'is not nor wealth: He that strayes thus 25 From her to hers, is more adulterous, Then if he took her maid. Search every spheare And firmament, our _Cupid_ is not there: He's an infernal god and under ground, With _Pluto_ dwells, where gold and fire abound: 30 Men to such Gods, their sacrificing Coles Did not in Altars lay, but pits and holes. Although we see Celestial bodies move Above the earth, the earth we Till and love: So we her ayres contemplate, words and heart, 35 And virtues; but we love the Centrique part. Nor is the soul more worthy, or more fit For love, then this, as infinite as it. But in attaining this desired place How much they erre; that set out at the face? 40 The hair a Forest is of Ambushes, Of springes, snares, fetters and manacles: The brow becalms us when 'tis smooth and plain, And when 'tis wrinckled, shipwracks us again. Smooth, 'tis a Paradice, where we would have 45 Immortal stay, and wrinkled 'tis our grave. The Nose (like to the first Meridian) runs Not 'twixt an East and West, but 'twixt two suns; It leaves a Cheek, a rosie Hemisphere On either side, and then directs us where 50 Upon the Islands fortunate we fall, (Not faynte _Canaries_, but _Ambrosiall_) Her swelling lips; To which when wee are come,