Repose. 1674

NOT for the reason others do,
It is I now sollicit you:
A juster cause designs my choice;
It is for your sake, not your Boyes.
Excess of study does you wrong;
A Bow may break that's bent too long.
The Heav'nly Bow (whose lasting stuff,
Would make one think it strong enough)
Is not bent always, but allow'd
To be cas'd up within a Cloud.

Let none here mock at what is said;
For Archery is there a Trade.
Dian, Apollo, Archers good;
And Cupid is their Robin Hood,
Long shining Darts Apollo shoots;
Th' Antipodes, and we his Butts.
Yet when 'tis night his Bow unbends,
And Arrows to his Sister lends;
Who buckles to 't (her skill to show)
'Till she become the very Bow.
And when she's at the utmost bent,
Her Darts with brightest Piles are lent;
Yet she by day refreshment seeks.
Then Cupid mostly shoots at Pricks;
And when at Butts the motto nicks.
Strange marks-man, who ne'r misses aim,
Yet slacks his string at every Game.
Moisture, (that heart-blood of the Earth)
From whence all things derive their birth,
Shrinks sometimes to the Springs i' th' Deep,
That so it may its vigours keep.
Sap (that prolifick Sperm of Trees)
Bestows its blessings by degrees;
Blossoms and Leaves it gives i' th' Spring;
And does its fruit in Autumn bring;
In Winter tho retires to th' Deep,
New strengths to gain or old to keep.
The Soul (that bright coelestial Guest)
Altho eternal, seeks for rest.
Nor can this Ease be a disgrace;
Since Heav'n's the chiefest resting place.