The Temple of Death, Art of Poetry, Duel of the Stags, etc (1695)/The Platonick

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THE

PLATONICK.

By Sir Charles Sedley.

Fair Octavia, you are much to blame,To blow the fire, and wonder at the flame.I did converse, 'tis true, so far was mine;But that I Lov'd, and hop'd, was wholly thine;Not hop'd, as others do, for a return,But that I might without offending burn.I thought those Eyes which every hour enslave,Could not remember all the Wounds they gave:Forgotten in the Crowd, I wisht to lie,And of your Coldness, not your Anger, die;Yet since you know I Love, 'tis now no timeLonger to hide, let me excuse the Crime; ​Seeing what Laws I to my Passion give,Perhaps you may consent that it should live:
First, It never shall a hope advanceOf waiting on you, but by seeming chance,I at a distance will Adore your Eyes,As awful Persians do the Eastern Skies:I never will presume to think of Sex,Nor with gross Thoughts my Deathless Love perplex:I tread a pleasant path without design;And to thy care my Happiness resign,From Heaven it self thy Beauty cannot beA freer Gift than is my Love to Thee.
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