Lord John Wilmot

Deare Friend
I heare this Towne does soe abound,
With sawcy Censurers, that faults are found,
With what of late wee (in Poetique Rage) Bestowing, threw away on the dull Age;

Absent from thee,
I languish still;
Then ask me not,
When I return

I cannot change, as others do,
Though you unjustly scorn;
Since that poor swain that sighs for you,
For you alone was born

My light thou art, without thy glorious
My eyes are darkened with eternal night;
My Love, thou art my way, my life, my light
Thou art my way,

You ladies of merry
Who have been to kiss the Duchess's hand,
Pray, did you not lately observe in the showA noble Italian called Signior Dildo
This signior was one of the Duchess's

God bless our good and gracious kind,
Whose promise none relies on,
Who never said a foolish thing,
Nor ever did a wise one

Methinks I see you, newly
From your embroider'd Bed and pissing,
With studied mien and much grimace,
Present yourself before your glass,

Here lies our Sovereign Lord the King,
Whose word no man relies on,
Who never said a foolish thing,
Nor ever did a wise one

All my past life is mine no more,
The flying hours are gone,
Like transitory dreams giv'n o'er,
Whose images are kept in

Tell me no more of constancy,
The frivolous
Of old age, narrow jealousy,
Disease, and want of sense

Give me leave to rail at you, -I ask nothing but my due:
To call you false, and then to
You shall not keep my heart a day
But alas

My dear mistress has a
Soft as those kind looks she gave me,
When with love's resistless art,
And her eyes, she did enslave me;