The Usurpation

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Thou 'adst to my soul no title or pretence;
  I was mine own, and free,
  Till I had given myself to thee;
But thou hast kept me slave and prisoner since.
  Well, since so insolent thou 'rt grown,
Fond tyrant! I'll depose thee from thy throne;
Such outrages must not admitted be
  In an elective monarchy.

Part of my heart by gift did to thee fall;
  My country, kindred, and my best
  Acquaintance, were to share the rest;
But thou, their covetous neighbour, drav'st out all:
  Nay more; thou mak'st me worship thee,
And wouldst the rule of my religion be:
Did ever tyrant claim such power as you,
  To be both emperor and pope too?

The public miseries, and my private fate,
  Deserve some tears; but greedy thou
  (Insatiate maid!) wilt not allow
That I one drop from thee should alienate:
  Nor wilt thou grant my sins a part,
Though the sole cause of most of them thou art;
Counting my tears thy tribute and thy due,
  Since first mine eyes I gave to you.

Thou all my joys and all my hopes dost claim;
  Thou ragest like a fire in me,
  Converting all things into thee;
Nought can resist, or not encrease the flame:
  Nay, every grief and every fear
Thou dost devour, unless thy stamp it bear:
Thy presence, like the crowned basilisk's breath,
  All other serpents puts to death.

As men in hell are from diseases free,
  So from all other ills am I;
  Free from their known formality:
But all pains eminently lie in thee!
  Alas, alas! I hope in vain
My conquer'd soul from out thine hands to gain;
Since all the natives there thou 'ast overthrown,
  And planted garrisons of thine own.

© Abraham Cowley