Abraham Cowley

“ But constant then and fix’d does prove,
Fix’d, that his dearest pole as soon may move.
Then may my vessel torn and shipwreck’d be,
If it put forth again to sea!
It never more abroad shall roam,
Though’t could next voyage bring the Indies home.
But I must sweat in love, and labour yet,
Till I a competency get;
They’re slothful fools who leave a trade,
Till they a moderate fortune by’t have made,
Variety I ask not; give me one
To live perpetually upon;
The person Love does to us fit,
Like manna, has the taste of all in it. ”