Virgil and Cato, no man vies With them in wealth of clerkly store; I would not see them with mine eyes; Nor him that sailed, sans sail nor oar, Across the barren sea and hoar, And all for love of his ladye; Nor pearl nor sapphire takes me more: To see my Love suffices me! I heed not Pegasus, that flies As swift as shafts the bowmen pour; Nor famed Pygmalion's artifice, Whereof the like was ne'er before; Nor Oléus, that drank of yore The salt wave of the whole great sea: Why? dost thou ask? 'T is as I swore To see my Love suffices me! AFTER FROISSART. BALLADE AGAINST THE JESUITS. AFTER LA FONTAINE. Rome does right well to censure all the vain Talk of Jansenius, and of them who preach That earthly joys are damnable! 'T is plain We need not charge at Heaven as at a breach; No, amble on! We '11 gain it, one and all; The narrow path's a dream fantastical, And Arnauld's quite superfluously driven Mirth from the world. We 'll scale the heavenly wall. Escobar makes a primrose path to heaven! He does not hold a man may well be slain Who vexes with unseasonable speech, You may do murder for five ducats gain, Not for a pin, a ribbon, or a peach; He ventures (most consistently) to teach That there are certain cases which befall When perjury need no good man appal, And life of love (he says) may keep a leaven. Sure, hearing this, a grateful world will bawl, "Escobar makes a primrose path to heaven!" "For God's sake read me somewhat in the strain Of his most cheering volumes, I beseech!" Why should I name them all? a mighty train— So many, none may know the name of each. Make these your compass to the heavenly beach, These only in your library instal: Burn Pascal and his fellows, great and small, Dolts that in vain with Escobar have striven; I tell you, and the common voice doth call, Escobar makes a primrose path to heaven! ENVOY. SATAN, that pride did hurry to thy fall, Thou porter of the grim infernal hall— Thou keeper of the courts of souls unshriven! To shun thy shafts, to 'scape thy hellish thrall, Escobar makes a primrose path to heaven! AFTER LA FONTAINE. ENVOY SATAN BALLADE OF BLIND LOVE. Who have loved and ceased to love, forget That ever they loved in their lives, they say; Only remember the fever and fret, And the pain of Love, that was all his pay; All the delight of him passes away From hearts that hoped, and from lips that met— Too late did I love you, my love, and yet I shall never forget till my dying day. Too late were we 'ware of the secret
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