COUNCELL (1) by ABRAHAM COWLEY

1.

GEntly, ah gently, Madam, touch
The wound, which you your selfe have made;
That pain must needs be very much,
Which makes me of your hand affraid.
Cordialls of pitty give me now,
For I too weak for Purgings grow.

2.

Do but a while with patience stay;
For Counsell yet will do no good,
'Till Time, and Rest, and Heaven allay
The violent burnings of my blood;
For what effect from this can flow,
To chide men drunk, for being so?

3.

Perhaps the Physick's good you give,
But nere to me can usefull prove;
Med'cines may Cure, but not Revive;
And I 'me not Sick, but Dead in Love.
In Love's Hell, not his World, am I;
At once I Live, am Dead, and Dy.

4.

What new found Rhetorick is thine?
Ev'n thy Diswassions me perswade,
And thy great power does clearest shine,
When thy Commands are disobeyed.
In vain thou bidst me to forbear;
Obedience were Rebellion here.

5.

Thy Tongue comes in, as if it meant
Against thine Eyes t' assist my Heart;
But different farre was his intent;
For strait the Traitor took their part.
And by this new foe Ime bereft
Of all that Little which was left.

6.

The act I must confesse was wise,
As a dishonest act could be;
Well knew the Tongue (alas) your Eyes
Would be too strong for That, and Mee.
And part o' the Triumph chose to get,
Rather then be a part of it.

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