216
Tixall Poetry.
For Love.
Unhappy East! not, in that awe
You pay your lords, whose will is law;
But in your owne unmanly reigne
O'er the soft sex, and proud disdayne.
What state would bring the valew downe
Of treasure, which is all their owne?
Ther thoughts to worthless objects move,
Who thus suppress the growth of Love.
Love, that extends the high desire,
Love, that improves the manly fire;
And makes the price of beauty rise,
And all our wishes multiplyes.
Such high content dwells not in sence—
Nor can the captiv'd fay re dispense
Such sweets as these, no servile dame
Can with her beauty feed this flame.
You pay your lords, whose will is law;
But in your owne unmanly reigne
O'er the soft sex, and proud disdayne.
What state would bring the valew downe
Of treasure, which is all their owne?
Ther thoughts to worthless objects move,
Who thus suppress the growth of Love.
Love, that extends the high desire,
Love, that improves the manly fire;
And makes the price of beauty rise,
And all our wishes multiplyes.
Such high content dwells not in sence—
Nor can the captiv'd fay re dispense
Such sweets as these, no servile dame
Can with her beauty feed this flame.
