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“Well sung sweet Ovid, in the days of yore-
What flight is that which love will not explore?
And Pyramus and Thisbe plainly show
The feats true lovers, when they list, can do:
Tho' watched and captive, yet in spite of all,
They found the art of kissing through a wall.”
“ Come l'ape trae dai fiori soave liquore, cosi l'uomo estrae dolcezze dalle inelliflue labbra di vezzosa Donua."
“ AMONGE thy fancies tell me this,
What is the thinge we call a kisse?
It is a creature borne and bred
Betweene the lips, all cherrie-red,
By love and warme desires fed,
And makes more softe the bridall bed.
It is an active flame that flies,
First to the babies of the eyes,
And charms them there with lullabies;
And stills the bride too when she cries.
Then to the chin, the cheekes, the eare,
It frisks and flyes, now here, now there,
'Tis now far off, and then 'tis neare,
'Tis here and there, and everywhere.
Has it a body ;--aye, and wings,
With thousand rare encoulorings ;
And as it flyes it gently sings,
- Love honie yields, but never stings.'
Has it a speaking virtue?-Yes.
How speaks it, pray?-Do you but this
Parte youre joyn'd lips, then speaks your kisse :
And this love's sweetest language is.”
As it's learnedly shown by the context above.
That “ kissing's" the primitive “ language of love,”
And that it is so I am bound to believe,
Or else how could Adam have courted Miss Eve?
I'll hasten to mix its professors among,
And learn to excel in so charming a tongue;
So tell me no more of your “ lingua Toscana,"
Which melts into sighs “ nella bocca Romana ”-
Of the warbling Malay;* that's so highly Euphonick,
As even (on dit) to eclipse the “ pure Dorick,”
Or of that gentle tongue, which your poet-men sing
Is penn'd with a feather from Cupid's own wing ;
And hence I conclude-for no reason is better,
Derive we that pretty expression—“Love-letter."
No! “ tell me no more ” of these beauties of their's,
Nor rock me to sleep with “ soft Lydian airs ;”
But waft me, ye gods, to that sensible sect
Who study all day in the kiss dialect,
And who, in their zeal, (lest forget them they might,)
Repeat o'er their lessons, the last thing at night.
But where is the tutor for studious gents.
Who gives (con amore) the first rudiments ?
The tender instructress, whose only class books
Are a red pair of lips, and soft eloquent looks.
O say me but where the kind humanist dwell,
And I'll seek her alone in her doctrinal cell.
Yes! I'll seek her alone, and I think she'll imply
That she ne'er had a much apter pupil than I.
The vowels, I'll fancy I read in her eyes,
And 'tis easy to picture our consonant sighs ;
While Prosody's * rules take the “ sound” of her voice,
And by “joining” our lips, I'll in Syntax † rejoice.
The verb-active, “ to love,” we will conjugate best;
Isay best, for I'm sure we'll decline all the rest,
Since that darling verb, if by heart it is got,
Is worth (in the grammar of life) the whole lot.
Of moods and of tenses, there's little to teach,
As we only require for our task, one of each :
The moods, the subjunctive, to which we're propense,
And, most certain it is, we shall study in-tense.
While both our declensions will end in one place-
The first person plural and genitive case.
* “ Prosody is that part of grammar which teaches the sound, &r. + Syntax is the system of joining things together.”