Imatges de pÓgina

O the killing Joy! O Extasie! my Heart will burst my Breast To leap into thy Bosom ! But, by Heav'n, This Night I will revenge me of thy Beauties, For the dear Rack I have this Day endur'd ; For all the Sighs and Tears that I have spent, I'll have so many thousand burning Loves; So swell thy Lips, so fill me with thy Sweetness, Thou shall not sleep, nor close thy wand'ring Eyes ; The smilling Hours shall all be lov'd away, We'll surfeit all the Night, and languilh all the Day. Lee Alex,

Where am I ? Surely Paradise is round me; Sweets planted by the Hand of Heav'n grow here, And ev'ry Sense is full of thy Perfection! To here thee speak might calm a Mad-man's Frenzy, Till by Attention he forgot his Sorrows; But to be hold thy Eyes, ch'amazing Beauties, Wou'd make him rage again with Love, as I do ; To touch thee's Heav'n, but to enjoy thee, Oh! Thou Nature's whole Perfection in one Piece ! Sure, framing thee, Heav'n took unusual Care, As its own Beauty it design'd thee fair, And form'd thee by the best-lov'd Angel there. Otw. Orph.

Who can behold such Beauty and be silent? Desire first taught us Words: Man when created, At first, alone, long wander'd up and down, Forlorn and silent as his Vassal Beast: But when a Heav'n-born Maid like you appear'd, Strange Passion fill'd his Eyes, and fir'd his Heart, Unloos'd his Tongue, and his first Talk was Love. Otw. Orpb.

Love in your sunny Eyes does basking play ;
Love walks the pleasant Mazes of your Hair;
Loves does on both your Lips for ever stray,
And sows and reaps a thousand Kisses there.

The Sun shall now no more dispence
His own, but your bright Influence:
I'll carve your Name on Barks of Trees,
With True Love's Knots and Flourishes,
That shall infuse eternal Spring,
And everlasting Flourishing :
Drink ev'ry Letter on't in Stum,
And make it brisk Champaign become :
Where e'er you tread, your Foot fhall fet
The Primrose and the Violet :
All Spices, Perfumes, and sweet Powders,
Shall borrow from your Breath cheir Odours.
Nature her Charter shall renew,
And take all Lives of Things from you: Ths



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The World depend upon your Eye,
And when you frown upon it, die :
Only our Loves shall still survive;
New Worlds and Natures to outlive :
And like to Heralds Moons, remain
All Crescent, without Change or Wane.

Hold, hold, quoth the, no more of this;
Sir Knight, you take your Aim amifs :
For you will find it a hard Chapter,
To catch me with poetick Rapture :
In which your Mastery of Art
Does shew it self, and not your Heart :
Nor will you raise, in mine, Combustion,
By Dint of high heroick Fustian.
She that with Poetry is won,
Is but a Desk to write upon :
And what Men fay of her, they mean
No more than that on which chey lean.
Some with Arabian Spices strive.
T'embalm her cruelly alive.
Her Mouth's conipar'd r'an Oysters, with
A Row of Pearls in't, 'stead of Teeth;
Others make Polies of her Cheeks,
Where red and whiteft Colours mix :
In which the Lilly and the Rose,
For Indian Lake and Cerufe goes.
The Sun and Moon, by her bright Eyes
Eclips'd and darken'd in the Skies,
Are but black Patches which she wears,
Cut into Suns, and Moons, and Stars :
By which Aftrologers, as well
As those in Heav'n above, can tell
What ftrange Events they do foreshow
Unto her Under-World below.
Her Voice the Musick of the Spheres,
So/loud it deafens mortal Ears :
As wise Philosophers have thought,
And that's the Cause we hear it not.
This has been done by fome, who those
Th'adord in Rhyme, would kick in Prose;
And in those Garters would have hung

Of which melodiously they sung.
Why so pale and wan, tond Lover!

Prithee why so pale ?
Will, when looking well can't move her,

Looking ill prevail ?

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Why so dull and mute, young Sinner!

Prithee why so mute ?
Will, when speaking well can't win her,

Saying nothing do't ?
Quit, quit for shame, this will not move,

This cannot take her ;
If of herself she will not love,

Nothing can make her :
The Devil take her.

Tell me then the Reason, why
Love from Hearts in Love does fly?
Why the Bird will build a Neft,
Where he ne'er intends to rest ?

Love like other little Boys ;
Cries for Hearts, as they for Toys :
Which, when gain'd in childish Play, -
Wantonly are thrown away.
Still on Wing, or on his Knees,
Love does nothing by Degrees:
Bafely flying when most priz'd;
Meanly fawning when despis’d,
Flatt'ring or insulting ever,
Generous and grateful never :
All his Joys are fleeting Dreams, :
All his Woes severe Extreams.

Oh Love! How are thy precious sweetest Minutes
Thus ever crofs'd, thus vex'd with Disappointments !
Now Pride, now Fickleness, fantastick Quarrels,
And fullen Coldness, give us Pain by Turns :
Malicious medling Chance is ever busy
To bring us Fears, Disquiets, and Delays ;
And ev'n at last, when after all our Waiting,
Eager we think to snatch our dear-bought Bliss,
Ambicion calls us to ics sullen Cares;
And Honour stern, impacient of Negleet,
Commands us to forget our Ease and Pleasures ;
As if we had been made for nought but Toil,
And Love were not the Bus'ness of our Lives. Rom. Ulys

Ah! cruel Heav'n, that made no Cure for Love!
Love has no Bounds in Pleasure or in Pain. Dryd. Virg.

What priestly Rites, alas! what pious Art
What Vows avail to cure a bleeding Heart ?
A gentle Fire the feeds within her Veins,
Where the soft God secure in Silence reigns :
Sick with Desire, and seeking him llie loves,
From Street to Street the raging Dido roves :


So when the watchful Shepherd, from the Blind,
Wounds with a random Shaft the careless Hind;
Distracted with her Pain lhe flies the Woods,
Bounds o'er the Lawn, and seeks the filent Floods,
With fruitless Care; for still the fatal Dart
Sticks in her Side, and rankles in her Heart. Dryd. Virg.

Anger in hafty Words or Blows,
It self discharges on our Foes;
And Sorrow too finds some Relief
In Tears, which wait upon our Grief:
So ev'ry Pallion, but fond Love,
Unto its own Redress does move:
But that alone the Wretch inclines
To what prevents his own Designs;
Makes him lament, and figh, and weep,
Disorder'd, tremble, fawn, and creep:
Poftures which render him defpis'd,
Where he endeavours to be priz’d.

But I must rowze my self, and give a Stop
To all those Ills by head long Passion caus'd:
In Minds resolv'd weak Love is put to flight,
And only conquers when we dare not fight.
But we indulge our Harms, and wbile he gains
An Entrance, please our felves into our Pains. Dryd. Sec. Lorvé,

Rowze to the Combat, And thou art sure to conquer: Wars shall restore thee, The Sound of Arms shall wake thy martial Ardour, And cure this am'rous Sickness of thy Soul, Begun by Sloth, and nurs’d-by too much Ease. The idle God of Love fupinely dreams Amidst inglorious Shades of purling Streams; In rosy Fetcers and fantastick Chains He binds deluded Maids and fimple Swaips: With soft Enjoyments wooes them to forget The hardy Toils and Labours of the Great : But if the warlike Trumpet's loud Alarms, To virtuous A&s excice and manly Arms ; The Coward Boy avows his abject Fear, On silken Wings sublime he cuts the Air, Scar'd at the noble Noise,and Thunder of the War.Row.Tamerl.

Away then, feeble God, I banish thee my Borom: Hence, I say, Be gone; or I will tear che Strings thac hold thee, And ftab thee in my Heart. The Wars come on: By Heav'n I'll drowa thy laughing Deicy In Blood, and drive thee with my brandith'd Sword. Lee Mithrid.

Yes !

Yes! I will shake this Cupid from my Arms,
If all the Rages of the Earth can fright him ;
Drown him in the deep Bowl of Hercules ;
Make the World drunk, and then like Æolus,
When he gave Passage to the struggling Winds;
I'll stick my Spear into the reeling Globe
To let it Blood : Sét Babylon in a Blaze,

(Lee Alco And drive this God of Flames with more consuming Fire.

LOYALTY. See Subject.
For Loyalty is still the same,
Whether it win or lose che Game;
True as the Dial to the Sun,
Altho' it be not shin'd upon.

But True and Faithful's fure to lose;
Which Way soever the Găme goes ;
And whether Parties lose or win,
Is always nick’d, or else hedg’d in:
While Pow'r usurp’d, like stoll'n Delight,
Is more bewitching than the right ;
And when the Times begin to alter,
None rise so high as from the Halter.

The Faith of most with Fortune does decline,
Duty's but Fear, and Conscience but Design.

Lec Fools the Name of Loyalty divide ;
Wise Men and Gods are on the ftrongest Side. Sedl. Ant.&Cley

For whom should we effeem above
The Men whom Gods do love.

The Laws of Friendship we our selves creato,
And 'cis but simple Villany to break 'em.
But Faith to Princes broke is Sacrilege,
An Injury to the Gods; and that loft Wretch,
Whose Breast is poison'd with so vile a Purpose,
Tears Thunder down from Heav'n on his own Head,
And leaves a Curfe to his Pofterity.

Roch. Vale. LUST. As Virtue never will be mov'd, Tho' Lewdness court it in a Shape of Heav'n : So Luft, tho' to a radiant Angel joynd, Will feat it self in a celestial Bed, And pray on Garbage.

Shak. Ham! To a Lady playing on the LUTE. The trembling Strings about her Fingers crowd, And tell their Joy for ev'ry Kiss aloud : Small Force there needs to make them 'tremble so ; Touch'd by that Hand, who'would not tremble too ? Here Love takes Scand, and while she charms the Ear, Empties his Quiver on the lift'ning Deer:



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