Poem by John Dryden

* * *

You charm'd me not with that fair face
Though it was all divine:
To be another's is the grace,
That makes me wish you mine.

The Gods and Fortune take their part
Who like young monarchs fight;
And boldly dare invade that heart
Which is another's right.

First mad with hope we undertake
To pull up every bar;
But once possess'd, we faintly make
A dull defensive war.

Now every friend is turn'd a foe
In hope to get our store:
And passion makes us cowards grow,
Which made us brave before. 

1. Te Deum
2. Epitaph on a Nephew in Catworth Church, Huntingdonshire
3. Upon Young Mr. Rogers, of Gloucestershire
4. Epitaph on Sir Palmes Fairborne's Tomb in Westminster Abbey
5. On Mrs. Margaret Paston, of Barningham, in Norfolk

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