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. Upon Young Mr. Rogers, of Gloucestershire
2. A Song (High State and Honours to others impart)
3. Te Deum
4. To the Lady Castlemaine, upon Her incouraging his first Play
5. Epitaph on Sir Palmes Fairborne's Tomb in Westminster Abbey

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