"O play not with my Heart, as Children do / With some poor Bird, which while they love, they shew. / One over-weening grasp of life bereaves, / And in a moment all the joy deceives."
— Coppinger, Matthew (fl. 1682)
Place of Publication
London
Publisher
Printed for R. Bentley, and M. Magnes [etc.]
Date
1682
Metaphor
"O play not with my Heart, as Children do / With some poor Bird, which while they love, they shew. / One over-weening grasp of life bereaves, / And in a moment all the joy deceives."
Metaphor in Context
Why shou'd I urge my Love, since that I know
Her Merit's great, and my Desert's as low?
My thought's as high as his who did aspire
To climb the Charriot of Etherial Fire;
And rashly perish'd, such has my fault been,
His was the King of Light, and mine the Queen.
I fondly thought, Prometheus-like, to steal
The heavenly Flame her Beauty does conceal;
And for my Error feel the raging smart,
Which Vulture-like does feed upon my Heart.
Pardon my rashness, mighty Queen of Hearts,
And thou great God of Love, whose peircing darts
No Medium knows, but either help or kill,
Must I the Number of thy Victims fill?
O play not with my Heart, as Children do
With some poor Bird, which while they love, they shew.
One over-weening grasp of life bereaves,
And in a moment all the joy deceives.
But why do I thus deprecate in vain,
Hoping for what I never can obtain?
Alas! unworthy Wrecth, too great a fire
Has on a sudden kindled thy desire
Beyond thy Fortune; as some Country Wight,
Who never knew the Wars, or how to fight,
Talks Big or Stoutly, and resolves to try
His ne're-prov'd Courage on the Enemy;
But when he sees the adverse Host draw nigh,
And now or never all his Manhood try,
He throws his Arms away, resolves to yield,
And like a Vassal quits the ne're-fought Field;
Just so did I, my actions, thoughts, and all,
Let all objections in a moment fall;
Untill your Heavenly Beauty I did see,
Alas! too strong an Enemy for me.
At the first sight I yielded Heart and Will,
Lady, to be at you Devotionr still.
Among the many Trophies then that wait
Upon your Beauty, let it be my Fate,
Or rather Fortune, since it cannot be
Counted a Bondage, where the Body's free.
But why the Body? Body, Heart, and Mind,
Unto your Beauty are alike confin'd,
Are either fix'd, or move by your direction;
Yet proud, in being Vassals to Perfection.
Her Merit's great, and my Desert's as low?
My thought's as high as his who did aspire
To climb the Charriot of Etherial Fire;
And rashly perish'd, such has my fault been,
His was the King of Light, and mine the Queen.
I fondly thought, Prometheus-like, to steal
The heavenly Flame her Beauty does conceal;
And for my Error feel the raging smart,
Which Vulture-like does feed upon my Heart.
Pardon my rashness, mighty Queen of Hearts,
And thou great God of Love, whose peircing darts
No Medium knows, but either help or kill,
Must I the Number of thy Victims fill?
O play not with my Heart, as Children do
With some poor Bird, which while they love, they shew.
One over-weening grasp of life bereaves,
And in a moment all the joy deceives.
But why do I thus deprecate in vain,
Hoping for what I never can obtain?
Alas! unworthy Wrecth, too great a fire
Has on a sudden kindled thy desire
Beyond thy Fortune; as some Country Wight,
Who never knew the Wars, or how to fight,
Talks Big or Stoutly, and resolves to try
His ne're-prov'd Courage on the Enemy;
But when he sees the adverse Host draw nigh,
And now or never all his Manhood try,
He throws his Arms away, resolves to yield,
And like a Vassal quits the ne're-fought Field;
Just so did I, my actions, thoughts, and all,
Let all objections in a moment fall;
Untill your Heavenly Beauty I did see,
Alas! too strong an Enemy for me.
At the first sight I yielded Heart and Will,
Lady, to be at you Devotionr still.
Among the many Trophies then that wait
Upon your Beauty, let it be my Fate,
Or rather Fortune, since it cannot be
Counted a Bondage, where the Body's free.
But why the Body? Body, Heart, and Mind,
Unto your Beauty are alike confin'd,
Are either fix'd, or move by your direction;
Yet proud, in being Vassals to Perfection.
Categories
Provenance
Searching "soul" and "bird" in HDIS (Poetry)
Date of Entry
04/29/2012
