Page:Madagascar, with other poems - Davenant (1638).djvu/100

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Will thinke thy griefe was over-pay'd, or yetBate the world one Sigh, of so just a debt?But she is gone! Repine now, if you dare;Like Heav'ns unlicenc'd Fooles, all punish'd areFor Nature as for crimes; yet cannot chooseBut mourne for ev'ry excellence wee loose;Though still commanded to a tame content;To thinke no good was given us, but lent:And a fond ridle in Philosophy,Perswades us too; the Virtuous never dye;That all the ills, which wee in absence findeConcerne the Eye-sight only, not the Minde:But Lovers (whose wise Sences take delightIn warme contaction, and in reall sight)Are not with leane imagination fed,Or satisfi'd, with thinking on the Dead.'Tis fit wee seeke her then; but he that findsHer out, must enter friendship with the Winds;Enquire their dwelling, and uncertaine walks;Whither they blow, from their forsaken StalksFlow'rs that are gone, ere they are smelt? or howDispose o'th sweeter Blossoms of the Bough?

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