The Request Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABBACCDD EDDEFFGG HIJHKKLM NOOPIJQQ RCCRSSTU DVVDDDWE WXXETBDD

I'AVE often wish'd to love what shall I doA
Me still the cruel boy does spareB
And I a double task must bearB
First to woo him and then a mistress tooA
Come at last and strike for shameC
If thou art any thing besides a nameC
I'll think thee else no God to beD
But poets rather Gods who first created theeD
-
I ask not one in whom all beauties growE
Let me but love whate'er she beD
She cannot seem deform'd to meD
And I would have her seem to others soE
Desire takes wings and straight does flyF
It stays not dully to inquire the WhyF
That happy thing a lover grownG
I shall not see with others' eyes scarce with mine ownG
-
If she be coy and scorn my noble fireH
If her chill heart I cannot moveI
Why I'll enjoy the very loveJ
And make a mistress of my own desireH
Flames their most vigorous heat do holdK
And purest light if compass'd round with coldK
So when sharp winter means most harmL
The springing plants are by the snow itself kept warmM
-
But do not touch my heart and so be goneN
Strike deep thy burning arrows inO
Lukewarmness I account a sinO
As great in love as in religionP
Come arm'd with flames for I would proveI
All the extremities of mighty LoveJ
Th' excess of heat is but a fableQ
We know the torrid zone is now found habitableQ
-
Among the woods and forests thou art foundR
There boars and lions thou dost tameC
Is not my heart a nobler gameC
Let Venus men and beasts Diana woundR
Thou dost the birds thy subjects makeS
Thy nimble feathers do their wings o'ertakeS
Thou all the spring their songs dost hearT
Make me love too I'll sing to' thee all the yearU
-
What service can mute fishes do to theeD
Yet against them thy dart prevailsV
Piercing the armour of their scalesV
And still thy sea born mother lives i'th' seaD
Dost thou deny only to meD
The no great privilege of captivityD
I beg or challenge here thy bowW
Either thy pity to me or else thine anger showE
-
Come or I 'll teach the world to scorn that bowW
I'll teach them thousand wholesome artsX
Both to resist and cure thy dartsX
More than thy skilful Ovid e'er did knowE
Musick of sighs thou shalt not hearT
Nor drink one wretched lover's tasteful tearB
Nay unless soon thou woundest meD
My verses shall not only wound but murder theeD

Abraham Cowley



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