Page:Works of Sir John Suckling.djvu/78

58 it is too late! I can no more Love now than I have loved before: My Flora, 'tis my fate, not I; And what you call contempt is destiny. I am no monster, sure: I cannot show Two hearts; one I already owe; And I have bound myself with oaths, and vowed Oft'ner, I fear, than Heaven hath e'er allowed, That faces now should work no more on me, Than if they could not charm, or I not see. And shall I break them? shall I think you can Love, if I could, so foul a perjur'd man? O no, 'tis equally impossible that I Should love again, or you love perjury.

Tom, I must confess I much admire Thy water should find passage through the fire; For fire and water never could agree: These now by nature have some sympathy: Sure then his way he forces, for all know The French ne'er grants a passage to his foe. If it be so, his valour I must praise, That being the weaker, yet can force his ways; And wish that to his valour he had strength, That he might drive the fire quite out at length; For, troth, as yet the fire gets the day, For evermore the water runs away.

not much, if thus amaz'd I look; Since I saw you, I have been planet-strook: A beauty, and so rare, I did descry, As, should I set her forth, you all, as I, Would lose your hearts; for he that can Know her and live, he must be more than man— An apparition of so sweet a creature, That, credit me, she had not any feature