John Dryden




Selfe Love

He that cannot chuse but love,
And strives against it still,
Never shall my fancy move,
For he loves ’gaynst his will;
Nor he which is all his own,
And can’ pleasure chuse;
When I am caught he can be gone,
And when he list refuse.
Nor he that loves none but faire,
For such by all are sought;
Nor he that can for foul ones care,
For his Judgement then is nought:
Nor he that hath wit, for he
Will make me his jest or slave;
Nor a fool when others…
He can neither…..
Nor he that still his Mistresse payes,
For she is thrall'd therefore:
Nor he that payes, not, for he sayes
Within, shee's worth no more.
Is there then no kind of men
Whom I may freely prove?
I will vent that humour then
In mine own selfe love.