Sometimes in panegyric high, Like lofty Pindar, I can soar; And raise a virgin to the sky, Or sink her to a pocky whore. My blood this day is very sweet, To-morrow of a bitter juice; Like milk, 'tis cried about the street, And so applied to different use. Most wondrous is my magic power: For with one colour I can paint; I'll make the devil a saint this hour, Next make a devil of a saint. Through distant regions I can fly, Provide me but with paper wings; And fairly show a reason why There should be quarrels among kings: And, after all, you'll think it odd, When learned doctors will dispute, That I should point the word of God, And show where they can best confute. Let lawyers bawl and strain their throats: 'Tis I that must the lands convey, And strip their clients to their coats; Nay, give their very souls away.
ON THE FIVE SENSES
All of us in one you'll find, Brethren of a wondrous kind; Yet among us all no brother Knows one tittle of the other; We in frequent councils are, And our marks of things declare, Where, to us unknown, a clerk Sits, and takes them in the dark. He's the register of all In our ken, both great and small; By us forms his laws and rules, He's our master, we his tools; Yet we can with greatest ease Turn and wind him where we please. One of us alone can sleep, Yet no watch the rest will keep, But the moment that he closes, Every brother else reposes. If wine's brought or victuals drest, One enjoys them for the rest. Pierce us all with wounding steel, One for all of us will feel. Though ten thousand cannons roar, Add to them ten thousand more, Yet but one of us is found Who regards the dreadful sound. Do what is not fit to tell, There's but one of us can smell.
FONTINELLA[1] TO FLORINDA
When on my bosom thy bright eyes, Florinda, dart their heavenly beams, I feel not the least love surprise, Yet endless tears flow down in streams; There's nought so beautiful in thee, But you may find the same in me. The lilies of thy skin compare; In me you see them full as white: The
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