Imatges de pàgina
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And when he happened to break off
I' th' middle of his speech, or cough,
H' had hard words ready to show why,
And tell what rules he did it by.
Else when with greatest art he spoke,
You'd think he talked like other folk;
For all a rhetorician's rules

Teach nothing but to name his tools.

In mathematics he was greater
Than Tycho Brahe or Erra Pater;
For he by geometric scale

Could take the size of pots of ale;
Resolve by sines and tangents, straight,
If bread or butter wanted weight;
And wisely tell what hour o' th' day
The clock does strike, by algebra.

For his religion, it was fit
To match his learning and his wit:
'T was Presbyterian true blue;
For he was of that stubborn crew
Of errant saints whom all men grant

To be the true Church Militant;
Such as do build their faith upon
The holy text of pike and gun;
Decide all controversies by
Infallible artillery;

And prove their doctrine orthodox
By apostolic blows and knocks;
Call fire and sword and desolation
A godly, thorough reformation,
Which always must be carried on,
And still be doing, never done,
As if religion were intended

For nothing else but to be mended.
A sect whose chief devotion lies
In odd, perverse antipathies;
In falling out with that or this,
And finding somewhat still amiss;
More peevish, cross, and spleenatic

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Than dog distract or monkey sick;
That with more care keep holy-day

The wrong than others the right way;

Compound for sins they are inclined to

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By damning those they have no mind to;
Still so perverse and opposite,

As if they worshipped God for spite.

The selfsame thing they will abhor
One way, and long another for.
Free-will they one way disavow;
Another, nothing else allow :
All piety consists therein
In them; in other men, all sin.
Rather than fail they will defy

That which they love most tenderly,

Quarrel with minced pies, and disparage

Their best and dearest friend, plum-porridge;
Fat pig and goose itself oppose,

And blaspheme custard through the nose.

SIR GEORGE ETHERIDGE

TO A LADY

ASKING HOW LONG HE WOULD LOVE HER

It is not, Celia, in our power

To say how long our love will last;

It may be we within this hour

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85

90

1663.

May lose those joys we now do taste:

The blessed, that immortal be,

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From change in love are only free.

Then since we mortal lovers are,

Ask not how long our love may last;
But while it does, let us take care

Each minute be with pleasure passed:

ΙΟ

Were it not madness to deny

To live because we're sure to die?

Before 1675.

1701.

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With a fa, la, la, la, la!

For though the Muses should prove kind,

And fill our empty brain,

Yet if rough Neptune rouse the wind

To wave the azure main,

Our paper, pen, and ink, and we

Roll up and down our ships at sea

With a fa, la, la, la, la!

Then if we write not by each post,

Think not we are unkind,

Nor yet conclude our ships are lost

By Dutchmen or by wind:

Our tears we'll send a speedier way;
The tide shall bring 'em twice a day-

With a fa, la, la, la, la!

The King with wonder and surprise
Will swear the seas grow bold,
Because the tides will higher rise

Than e'er they did of old;

ΙΟ

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20

25

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From men who 've left their hearts behind?—

With a fa, la, la, la, la!

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CHARLES SACKVILLE, EARL OF DORSET

Let wind and weather do its worst,

Be you to us but kind;

Let Dutchmen vapour, Spaniards curse,
No sorrow we shall find:

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In hopes this declaration moves
Some pity for our tears:
Let's hear of no inconstancy;

We have too much of that at sea-
With a fa, la, la, la, la!

1665.

ON A LADY WHO FANCIED HERSELF A BEAUTY

Dorinda's sparkling wit and eyes,

United, cast too fierce a light,

Which blazes high but quickly dies,

Pains not the heart but hurts the sight.

Love is a calmer, gentler joy;

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5

Smooth are his looks, and soft his pace:
Her Cupid is a blackguard boy,

That runs his link full in your face.

Before 1680.

1701.

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Phyllis, for shame! let us improve,

A thousand different ways,

Those few short moments snatched by love

From many tedious days.

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