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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=498943" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Against The Love Of Great Ones.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Vnhappy youth, betrayd by Fate<br>To such a love hath sainted hate,<br>And damned those celestiall bands<br>Are onely knit with equal hands;<br>The love of great ones is a love,<br>Gods are incapable to prove:<br>For where there is a joy uneven,<br>There never, never can be Heav'n:<br>'Tis such a love as is not sent<br>To fiends as yet for punishment;<br>IXION willingly doth feele<br>The gyre of his eternal wheele,<br>Nor would he now exchange his paine<br>For cloudes and goddesses againe.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Wouldst thou with tempests lye? Then bow<br>To th' rougher furrows of her brow,<br>Or make a thunder-bolt thy choyce?<br>Then catch at her more fatal voyce;<br>Or 'gender with the lightning? trye<br>The subtler flashes of her eye:<br>Poore SEMELE wel knew the same,<br>Who both imbrac't her God and flame;<br>And not alone in soule did burne,<br>But in this love did ashes turne.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> How il doth majesty injoy<br>The bow and gaity oth' boy,<br>As if the purple-roabe should sit,<br>And sentence give ith' chayr of wit.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Say, ever-dying wretch, to whom<br>Each answer is a certaine doom,<br>What is it that you would possesse,<br>The Countes, or the naked Besse?<br>Would you her gowne or title do?<br>Her box or gem, the thing or show?<br>If you meane HER, the very HER,<br>Abstracted from her caracter,<br>Unhappy boy! you may as soone<br>With fawning wanton with the Moone,<br>Or with an amorous complaint<br>Get prostitute your very saint;<br>Not that we are not mortal, or<br>Fly VENUS altars, and abhor<br>The selfesame knack, for which you pine;<br>But we (defend us!) are divine,<br>[Not] female, but madam born, and come<br>From a right-honourable wombe.<br>Shal we then mingle with the base,<br>And bring a silver-tinsell race?<br>Whilst th' issue noble wil not passe<br>The gold alloyd (almost halfe brasse),<br>And th' blood in each veine doth appeare,<br>Part thick Booreinn, part Lady Cleare;<br>Like to the sordid insects sprung<br>From Father Sun and Mother Dung:<br>Yet lose we not the hold we have,<br>But faster graspe the trembling slave;<br>Play at baloon with's heart, and winde<br>The strings like scaines, steale into his minde<br>Ten thousand false and feigned joyes<br>Far worse then they; whilst, like whipt boys,<br>After this scourge hee's hush with toys.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> This heard, Sir, play stil in her eyes,<br>And be a dying, live like flyes<br>Caught by their angle-legs, and whom<br>The torch laughs peece-meale to consume.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Richard+Lovelace">Richard Lovelace</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=498943" data-title="Against The Love Of Great Ones. de Richard Lovelace" data-description="Vnhappy youth, betrayd by Fate
To such a love hath sainted hate,
And damned those celestiall bands
Are onely knit with equal hands;
The love of great ones is a love,
Gods are incapable to prove:
For where there is a joy uneven,
There never, never ..."></div>
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