Professor.

The PROPHET

Teach me to Love? go teach thyself more wit;
  I chief Professor am of it.
   Teach craft to Scots, and thrift to Jews,
   Teach boldness to the Stews;
In Tyrants Courts teach supple flattery,
Teach Jesuit's, that have travell'd far, to Ly.
   Teach fire to burn, and winds to blow,
   Teach restless fountains how to flow,
   Teach the dull earth, fixt, to abide,
Teach Woman-kind inconstancy and Pride.
See if your diligence here will useful prove;
But, pr'ithee, teach not me to Love.

The God of Love, if such a thing there be,
   May learn to love from Me.
   He who does boast that he has bin
   In every Heart since Adams sin,
I'll lay my Life, nay Mistress on't, that's more;
I'll teach him things he never knew before;
   I'll teach him a Receipt to make
   Words that weep, and Tears that speak,
   I'll teach him Sighs, like those in Death,
At which the Souls go out too with the breath:
Still the Soul stays, yet still does from me run;
   As Light and Heat does with the Sun.

'Tis I who Loves Columbus am; 'tis I,
   Who must new Worlds in it descry:
   Rich Worlds, that yield of Treasure more,
   then all that has bin known before.
And yet like his (I fear) my Fate must be,
To find them out for others; not for Me.
   Mee Times to come, I know it, shall
   Loves last and greatest Prophet call.
   But, ah, what's that, if she refuse,
To hear the wholesome Doctrines of my Muse?
If to my share the Prophets fate must come;
   Hereafter Fame, here Martyrdome.

Abraham Cowley