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First Line: I try'd if books would cure my love, but found
Last Line: There where they work not well.
Subject(s): Love


1.

I Try'd if Books would cure my Love, but found
Love made them Non-sense all.
I apply'd Receipts of Business to my wound,
But stirring did the pain recall.

2.

As well might Men who in a Feaver fry,
Mathematique doubts debate,
As well might men, who mad in darkness ly,
Write the Dispatches of a State.

3.

I try'd Devotion, Sermons, frequent Prayer,
But those did worse than useless prove;
For Pray'rs are turn'd to Sin, in those who are
Out of Charity, or in Love.

4.

I try'd in Wine to drown the mighty care;
But Wine, alas, was Oyl to th' Fire.
Like Drunkards' Eyes, my troubled Fancy there
Did double the Desire.

5.

I try'd what Mirth and Gaiety would do,
And mixt with pleasant Companies;
My Mirth did graceless and insipid grow,
And 'bove a Clinch it could not rise.

6.

Nay, God forgive me for't, at last I try'd
'Gainst this some new desire to stir,
And lov'd again, but 'twas where I espy'd,
Some faint Resemblances of Her.

7.

The Physick made me worse with which I strove,
This Mortal Ill t' expel;
As wholesome Med'icines the Disease improve,
There where they work not well.





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