His Farewell To Sack.

Farewell thou thing, time past so known, so dear     To me as blood to life and spirit; near,     Nay, thou more near than kindred, friend, man, wife,     Male to the female, soul to body; life     To quick action, or the warm soft side     Of the resigning, yet resisting bride.     The kiss of virgins, first fruits of the bed,     Soft speech, smooth touch, the lips, the maidenhead:     These and a thousand sweets could never be     So near or dear as thou wast once to me.     O thou, the drink of gods and angels! wine     That scatter'st spirit and lust, whose purest shine     More radiant than the summer's sunbeams shows;     Each way illustrious, brave, and like to those     Comets we see by night, whose shagg'd portents     Foretell the coming of some dire events,     Or some full flame which with a pride aspires,     Throwing about his wild and active fires;     'Tis thou, above nectar, O divinest soul!     Eternal in thyself, that can'st control     That which subverts whole nature, grief and care,     Vexation of the mind, and damn'd despair.     'Tis thou alone who, with thy mystic fan,     Work'st more than wisdom, art, or nature can     To rouse the sacred madness and awake     The frost-bound blood and spirits, and to make     Them frantic with thy raptures flashing through     The soul like lightning, and as active too.     'Tis not Apollo can, or those thrice three     Castalian sisters, sing, if wanting thee.     Horace, Anacreon, both had lost their fame,     Had'st thou not fill'd them with thy fire and flame.     Ph[oe]bean splendour! and thou, Thespian spring!     Of which sweet swans must drink before they sing     Their true-pac'd numbers and their holy lays,     Which makes them worthy cedar and the bays.     But why, why longer do I gaze upon     Thee with the eye of admiration?     Since I must leave thee, and enforc'd must say     To all thy witching beauties, Go, away.     But if thy whimpering looks do ask me why,     Then know that nature bids thee go, not I.     'Tis her erroneous self has made a brain     Uncapable of such a sovereign     As is thy powerful self. Prithee not smile,     Or smile more inly, lest thy looks beguile     My vows denounc'd in zeal, which thus much show thee     That I have sworn but by thy looks to know thee.     Let others drink thee freely, and desire     Thee and their lips espous'd, while I admire     And love thee, but not taste thee. Let my muse     Fail of thy former helps, and only use     Her inadult'rate strength: what's done by me     Hereafter shall smell of the lamp, not thee.