Epode

  
XI.
 — EPODE.
                  

                 And her black spite expel, 
Which to effect (since no breast is so sure, 
                 Or safe, but she'll procure 
Some way of entrance) we must plant a guard 
                 Of thoughts to watch, and ward 
At the eye and ear, the ports unto the mind,                 Give knowledge instantly, 
To wakeful reason, our affections' king : 
                 Who, in th' examining, 
Will quickly taste the treason, and commit 
                 Close, the close cause of it.
 
'Tis the securest policy we have, 
                 To make our sense our slave.
 
But this true course is not embraced by many :                 Or else the sentinel, 
That should ring larum to the heart, doth sleep ; 
                 Or some great thought doth keep 
Back the intelligence, and falsely swears, 
                 They are base, and idle fears 
Whereof the loyal conscience so complains, 
                 Thus, by these subtile trains, 
Do several passions invade the mind,                 The first ; as prone to move 
Most frequent tumults, horrors, and unrests, 
                 In our enflamed breasts : 
But this doth from the cloud of error grow, 
                 Which thus we over-blow.
 
The thing they here call Love, is blind desire, 
                 Arm'd with bow, shafts, and fire ; 
Inconstant, like the sea, of whence 'tis born,                 And boils, as if he were 
In a continual tempest.
  Now, true love 
                 No such effects doth prove ; 
That is an essence far more gentle, fine, 
                 Pure, perfect, nay divine ; 
It is a golden chain let down from heaven, 
                 Whose links are bright and even, 
That falls like sleep on lovers, and combines                 To murder different hearts, 
But in a calm, and god-like unity, 
                 Preserves community.
 
O, who is he, that, in this peace, enjoys 
                 The elixir of all joys ? 
A form more fresh than are the Eden bowers, 
                 And  lasting as her flowers : 
Richer than Time, and as time's virtue rare                 Who, blest with such high chance 
Would, at suggestion of a steep desire, 
                 Cast himself from the spire 
Of all his happiness ?   But soft :  I hear 
                 Some vicious fool draw near, 
That cries, we dream, and swears there's no such thing,  
                 As this chaste love we sing.
 
Peace, Luxury, thou art like one of those                 No, Vice, we let thee know, 
Though thy wild thoughts with sparrows' wings do flie, 
                 Turtles can chastly die ; 
And yet (in this t' express ourselves more clear) 
                 We do not number here 
Such spirits as are only continent, 
                 Because lust's means are spent : 
Or those, who doubt the common mouth of fame,                 Is mere necessity.
 
Nor mean we those, whom vows and conscience 
                 Have fill'd with abstinence : 
Though we acknowledge, who can so abstain, 
                 Makes a most blessed gain.
 
He that for love of goodness hateth ill, 
                 Is more crown-worthy still, 
Than he, which for sin's penalty forbears ;                 Graced with a Phoenix' love ; 
A beauty of that clear and sparkling light, 
                 Would make a day of night, 
And turn the blackest sorrows to bright joys ; 
                 Whose odorous breath destroys 
All taste of bitterness, and makes the air 
                 As sweet as she is fair.
 
A body so harmoniously composed,                 O, so divine a creature, 
Who could be false to?  chiefly, when he knows 
                 How only she bestows 
The wealthy treasure of her love on him ; 
                 Making his fortune swim 
In the full flood of her admired perfection ? 
                 What savage, brute affection, 
Would not be fearful to offend a dame                 To virtuous moods inclined 
That knows the weight of guilt ; he will refrain 
                 From thoughts of such a strain, 
And to his sense object this sentence ever, 
                 "Man may securely sin, but safely never.
"


                 Is virtue and not fate : 
Next to that virtue, is to know vice well, 
                 And her black spite expel, 
Which to effect (since no breast is so sure, 
                 Or safe, but she'll procure 
Some way of entrance) we must plant a guard 
                 Of thoughts to watch, and ward 
At the eye and ear, the ports unto the mind,

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