Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, DIALOGUE, by ABRAHAM COWLEY


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

DIALOGUE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: What have we done? What cruel passion mov'd thee
Last Line: Yet wilt undo me more should'st thou not come at night.


1.

She. WHat have we done? what cruel passion mov'd thee,
Thus to rune her that lov'd thee?
Me thou hast robbed, but what art thou
Thy Self the richer now?
Shame succeeds the short-liv'd pleasure;
So soon is spent, and gone, this thy Ill-gotten Treasure.

2.

He. We have done no harm; nor was it Theft in me,
But noblest Charity in Thee.
I'll the well-gotten Pleasure
Safe in my mem'ory Treasure;
What though the Flower it self do wast,
The Essence from it drawn, does long and sweeter last.

3.

She. No: I'm undone; my Honour Thou hast slain,
And nothing can restore't again.
Art and Labour to bestow,
Upon the Carcase of it now,
Is but t' embalm a body dead,
The Figure may remain, the Life and Beauty's fled.

4.

He. Never, my dear, was Honour yet undone,
By Love, but Indiscretion.
To th' wise it all things does allow;
And cares not What we do; but How.
Like Tapers shut in ancient Urns,
Unless it let in air, for ever shines and burns.

5.

She. Thou first perhaps who didst the fault commit,
Wilt make thy wicked boast of it.
For Men, with Roman Pride, above
The Conquest, do the Triumph love:
Nor think a perfect Victory gain'd,
Unless they through the streets their Captive lead enchain'd.

6.

He. Whoe're his secret joys has open laid,
The Baud to his own Wife is made.
Beside what boast is left for me,
Whose whole wealth's a Gift from Thee?
'Tis you the Conquerour are, 'tis you
Who have not ta'ne, but bound, and gagg'd me too.

7.

She. Though publick pun'ishment we escape, the Sin
Will rack and torture us within:
Guilt and Sin our bosom bears;
And though fair, yet the Fruit appears,
That Worm which now the Core does wast,
When long 't has gnaw'd within will break the skin at last.

8.

He. That thirsty Drink, that Hungry Food I sought,
That wounded Balm, is all my fault.
And thou in pity didst apply
The kind and only remedy:
The Cause absolves the Crime; since Me
So mighty Force did move, so mighty Goodness Thee.

9.

She. Curse on thine Arts! methinks I Hate thee now;
And yet I'm sure I love Thee too!
I'm angry, but my wrath will prove
More Innocent than did thy Love.
Thou hast this day undone me quite:
Yet wilt undo me more should'st thou not come at night.





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