Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE DISSEMBLER, by ABRAHAM COWLEY

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THE DISSEMBLER, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: Unhurt, untoucht, did I complain
Last Line: My burning bull the first doe try.


UNhurt, untoucht, did I complain;
And terrifi'd all others with the pain:
But now I feel the mighty evill;
Ah, there's no fooling with the Devill!
So wanton Men, whilst others they would fright,
Themselves have met a real Spright.


I thought, I'll swear, an handsome ly
Had been no sinne at all in Poetry:
But now I suffer an Arrest,
For words were spoke by me in jest.
Dull, sottish God of Love, and can it be
Thou understand'st not Raillerie?


Darts, and Wounds, and Flame, and Heat,
I nam'd but for the Rhyme, or the Conceit.
Nor meant my verse should raised be,
To this sad fame of Prophesie;
Truth gives a Dull Propriety to my stile,
And all the Metaphors does spoile.


In things, where Fancy much does reigne
'Tis dangerous too cunningly to feigne:
The Play at last a Truth does grow,
And Custome into Nature goe.
By this curst art of begging I became
Lame, with counterfeiting Lame.


My Lines of amorous desire
I wrote to kindle and blow others' fire:
And 'twas a barbarous delight
My Fancy promised from the sight;
But now, by Love, the mighty Phalaris, I
My burning Bull the first doe try.

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