To Mr. Omnibon

OFF (Thyrsis!) with this melancholick Fit,
Nor like a Purgatory Fresh-man sit;
In love, my Thyrsis, and pretend'st to Wit!
What, reconcil'd! and canst thou not forbear?
What, pardon those that did to pieces tear
Thy Brother Orpheus? what, not Love forswear?
Love, that damn'd Leprosie, infectious Pest,
All Africa's Monsters kennell'd in his breast.
Tell me not 'tis a sin to break your Vows
Of Lovers, perjury Jove himself allows.
No—he's an Ass that Womankind adores:
Let Bacchus kick the Bastard out of doors.
Come then dip the blind Rogue in a full Bowl,
And let Wine's Spirits elevate your Soul.
For Love will vanish at his Brother's sight,
So Phoebus dims the Lamps that rule the Night:
So Antidotes rank Poyson can expel:
And so one Witch undoes another's Spell:
So Musick helpeth when Tarantula's sting;
And Orpheus can as well as Sirens sing.