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Love, give me leave to serve thee, and be wise To keepe thy torch in, but restore blind eyes. I will a flame into my bosome take, That Martyrs Court when they embrace the stake: Not dull, and smoakie fires, but heat divine, That burnes not to consume, but to refine. I have a Mistresse for perfections rare In every eye, but in my thoughts most faire. Like Tapers on the Altar shine her eyes; Her breath is the perfume of Sacrifice. And where soe’re my fancy would begin, Still her perfection lets religion in. I touch her like my Beads with devout care; And come unto my Courtship as my Praier. Wee sit, and talke, and kisse away the houres, As chastly as the morning dews kisse flowers. Goe wanton Lover spare thy sighs and teares, Put on the Livery which thy dotage weares, And call it Love, where heresie gets in Zeal’s but a coale to kindle greater sin. Wee weare no flesh, but one another greet, As blessed soules in separation meet. Wer’t possible that my ambitious sin, Durst commit rapes upon a Cherubin, I might have lustfull thoughts to her, of all Earths heav’nly Quire the most Angelicall. Looking into my brest, her forme I find That like my Guardian-Angell keeps my mind From rude attempts; and when affections stirre, I calme all passions with one thought of her. Thus they whose reasons love, and not their sence, The spirits love: thus one Intelligence Reflects upon his like, and by chast loves In the same spheare this and that Angell moves. Nor is this barren Love; one noble thought Begets an other, and that still is brought To bed of more; vertues and grace increase, And such a numerous issue ne’re can cease. Where Children, though great blessings, only bee Pleasures repriv’d to some posteritie. Beasts love like men, if men in lust delight, And call that Love which is but appetite. When essence meets with essence, and soules joyne In mutuall knots, thats the true Nuptall twine: Such Lady is my Love, and such is true; All other Love is to your Sexe, not You.
— THOMAS RANDOLPH (POET)