Robert Heath (fl. 1650)

’TIS a child of phansies getting,

Brought up between Hope and Fear;

Fed with smiles, grown by uniting

Strong, and so kept by Desire.

’Tis a perpetual vestal fire

Never dying,

Whose smoke like incense doth aspire,

Upwards flying.

It is a soft magnetic stone,

Attracting hearts by sympathy,

Binding up close two souls in one,

Both discoursing secretly.

’Tis the true Gordian knot that ties

Yet ne’er unbinds,

Fixing thus two lovers’ eyes

As well as minds.

’Tis the sphere’s heavenly harmony

When two skilful hands do strike;

And every sound expressively

Marries sweetly with the like:

’Tis the world’s everlasting chain

That all things tied,

And bid them like the fixed wain

Unmoved to bide.

’Tis Nature’s law inviolate,

Confirmed by mutual consent

Where two dislike, like, love, and hate,

Each to the other’s full content:

’Tis the caress of every thing;

The turtle-dove;

Both birds and beasts do offering bring

To Mighty Love.

’Tis th’ angels’ joy: the gods’ delight, man’s bliss,

’Tis all in all: without Love nothing is.