ESTREINES; TO CALISTA by CHARLES COTTON

I

I RECKON the first day I saw those eyes,
Which in a moment made my heart their prize
To all my whole futurity,
The first day of my first New Year,
Since then I first began to be,
And knew why Heav'n plac'd me here;
For till we love, and love discreetly too,
We nothing are, nor know we what we do.

II

Love is the soul of life, though that I know
Is call'd soul too, but yet it is not so,
Not rational at least, until
Beauty with her diviner light
Illuminates the groping will,
And shows us how to choose aright;
And that's first prov'd by th' objects it refuses,
And by being constant then to that it chooses.

III

Days, weeks, months, years, and lustres take
So small time up i' th' lover's almanack,
And can so little love assuage,
That we (in truth) can hardly say,
When we have liv'd at least an age,
A long one, we have lov'd a day.
This day to me, so slowly does time move,
Seems but the noon unto my morning love.

IV

Love by swift Time, which sickly passions dread,
Is no more measur'd than 'tis limited:
That passion where all others cease,
And with the fuel lose the flame,
Is evermore in its increase,
And yet being love, is still the same:
They err call liking love, true lovers know
He never lov'd who does not always so.

V

You who my last love have, my first love had,
To whom my all of love was, and is paid,
Are only worthy to receive
The richest New-Year's gift I have;
My love, which I this morning give,
A nobler never Monarch gave,
Which each New Year I will present anew,
And you'll take care, I hope, it shall be due.

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