I TELL thee, Dick, where I have been,
Where I the rarest things have seen;
Oh! things without compare!
Such sights again can not be found
In any place on English ground,
Be it at wake or fair.
At Charing-cross, hard by the way
Where we (thou knowest) do sell our hay,
There is a house with stairs;
And there did I see coming down
Such folk as are not in our town,
Forty at least, pairs.
Amongst the rest, one pestilent fine
(His beard no bigger, though, than thine)
Walked on before the rest :
Our landlord looks like nothing to him;
The king, (God bless him!) 'twould undo him,
Should he go still so drest.
At course-a-park, without all doubt,
He should have first been taken out
By all the maids i'th' town;
Though lusto Roger there had been,
Or little George upon the green,
Or Vincent of the Crown.
But, wot you what? the youth was going
To make an end of all his wooing;
The parson for him staid;
Yet, by his leave, for all his haste.
He did not so much wish all past,
Perchance, as did the maid.
The maid (and thereby hangs a tale;
For such a maid no Whitsun ale
Could ever yet produce)-
No grape that's kindly ripe could be
So round, so plump, so soft as she,
Nor half so full of juice.
Her finger was so small, the ring
Would not stay on which they did tring,
It was too wide a peck:
And to say truth, for out it must,
It looked like the great collar, just,
About our young colt's neck.
Her feet beneath her petticoat,
Like little mice, stole in and out,
As if they feared the light:
But, oh! she dances such a way-
No sun upon an Easter day
Is half so fine a sight!
Her cheeks so rare a white was on,
No daisy makes comparison,
(Who sees them is undone ;)
For streaks of red were mingled there,
Such as are on a Catherine pear,
(The side that 's next the sun.) Her lips were red, and one was thin, Compared to that was next her chin,
(Some bee had stung it newly);
But, Dick, her eyes so guard her face,
I durst no more upon them gaze
Than on the sun in July.
Her mouth so small when she does speak,
Thou 'dst swear her teeth her words did break,
That they might passage get;
But she so handled still the matter,
They came as good as ours, or better,
And are not spent a whit.
Passion o' me! how I run on!
There's that that would be thought upon,
I trow, besides the bride;
The business of the kitchen's great,
For it is fit that men should eat
Nor was it there denied.
Just in the nick, the cook knocked thrice,
And all the waiters in a trice
His summons did obey:
Each serving man, with dish in hand,
Marched boldly up, like our trained band,
Presented, and away.
When all the meat was on the table,
What man of knife or teeth was able
'o stay to be entreated?
And this the very reason was,
Before the parson could say grace,
The company was seated.
Now hats fly off, and youths carouse,
Healths first go round, and then the house,
The bride's came thick and thick;
And when 'twas named another's health, J'erhaps he made it hers by stealth;
(And who could help it, Dick?)
O' th' sudden up they rise and dance;
Then sit again, and sigh, and glance;
Then dance again and kiss:
Thus several ways the time did pass,
Till every woman wished her place,
And every man wished his.
By this time all were stolen aside
To counsel and undress the bride-
But that he must not know :-
But yet 'twas thought he guessed her mind,
And did not mean to stay behind
Above an hour or so.
When in he came, Dick, there she lay,
Like new-fallen snow melting away:
('Twas time, I trow, to part.) Kisses were now the only stay, Which soon she gave, as who would say, "Good-by! with all my heart."
But just as heavens would have, to cross it,
In came the bride-maids with the posset;
The bridegroom ate in spite;
For had he left the women to 't,
It would have cost two hours to do 't,
Which were too much that night.
LOVE in her sunny eyes does basking play;
Love walks the pleasant mazes of her hair;
Love does on both her lips for ever stay,
And sows and reaps a thousand kisses there:
In all her outward parts Love's always seen;
But, oh! he never went within.
Within, Love's foes, his greatest foes, abide,
Malice, Inconstancy, and Pride:
So the earth's face, trees, herbs, and flowers, do dress,
With other beauties numberless;
But at the centre darkness is, and hell;
There wicked spirits, and there the dam ned, dwell.
With me, alas! quite contrary it fares;
Darkness and death lie in my weeping eyes,
Despair, and paleness, in my face appears,
And grief, and fear, Love's greatest enemies;
But, like the Persian tyrant, Love within
Keeps his proud court, and ne'er is seen.
Oh! take my heart, and by that means you'll prove
Within too stored enough of love:
Give me but yours, I'll by that change so thrive,
That love in all my parts shall live.
So powerful is this change, it render can
My outside Woman, and your inside Man.
0. B. R., IN RETURN FOR HER BRACELET.
'Tis not, dear love, that amber twist,
Which circles round my captive wrist,
Can have the power to make me more
Your prisoner than I was before;
Though I that bracelet dearer hold
Than misers would a chain of gold;
Yet this but ties my outward part,-
Heart-strings alone can tie my heart.
"Tis not that soft and silken wreath.
Your hands did unto mine bequeath,
Can bind with half so powerful charms
As the embraces of your arms;
Although not iron bands, my fair,
Can bind more fiercely than your hair:
Yet what will chain me most will be,
Your heart in true-love's knot to me.
"Tis not those beams, your hairs, nor all
Your glorious outside doth me thrall,—
Although your looks have force enow,
To make the stateliest tyrants bow,
Nor any angel could deny
Your person his idolatry,--
Yet I do not so much adore
The temple, but the goddess more.
If, then, my soul you would confine
To prison, tie your heart to mine;
Your noble virtues, constant love,
The only powerful chains will prove
To bind me ever: such as those
The hands of death shall ne'er unloose.
Until I such a prisoner be,
No liberty can make me free.
TO ALTHEA, FROM PRISON. WHEN Love, with unconfined wings, Hovers within my gates,
And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at the grates;
When I lie tangled in her hair,
And fettered to her eye,-
The birds, that wanton in the air,
Know no such liberty.
When flowing cups run swiftly round,
With no allaying Thames,
Our careless heads with roses bound,
Our hearts with loyal flames;
When thirsty grief in wine we steep,
When healths and draughts go free,-
Fishes, that tipple in the deep,
Know no such liberty.
When, like committed linnets, I,
With shriller throat shall sing
The sweetness, mercy, majesty,
And giories of my king;
When I shall voice aloud how good
He is, how great should be,—
Enlarged winds, that curl the flood,
Know no such liberty.
Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Mind innocent and quiet take
That for an hermitage.
If I have freedom in my love,
And in my soul am free,—
Angels alone, that soar above,
Enjoy such liberty.
THAT which her slender waist confined
Shall now my joyful temples bind:
No monarch but would give his crown,
His arms might do what this has done.
It was my heaven's extremest sphere,
The pale that held that lovely deer:
My joy, my grief, my hope, my love,
Did all within this circle move.
A narrow compass! and yet there
Dwelt all that 's good, and all that 's fair:
Give me but what this riband bound,
Take all the rest the sun goes round.
EDMUND WALLER.
WHY so pale and wan, fond lover?
Prithee, why so pale?
Will, when looking well can't move her,
Looking ill prevail ?
Prithee, why so pale ?
Why so dull and mute, young sinner?
Prithee, why so mute?
Will, when speaking well can't win her,
Saying nothing do't?
Prithee, why so mute?
Quit, quit for shame; this will not move
This can not take her :
If of herself she will not love,
Nothing can make her.
The devil take her ?
TO AMORET.
AMORET, the milky way,
Framed of many nameless stars!
The smooth stream, where none can say He this drop to that prefers!
Amoret, my lovely foe!
Tell me where thy strength does lie? Where the power that charms us so ? In thy soul, or in thy eye?
By that snowy neck alone,
Or thy grace in motion seen,
No such wonders could be done;
Yet thy waist is straight and clean
As Cupid's shaft, or Hermes' rod,
And powerful too as either god.
TO A FAIR YOUNG LADY GOING CUT OF THE
TOWN IN THE SPRING.
Ask not the cause why sullen spring
So long delays her flowers to bear;
Why warbling birds forget to sing,
And winter-storms invert the year:
Chloris is gone, and Fate provides
To make it spring where she resides.
Chloris is gone, the cruel fair!
She cast not back a pitying eye;
But left her lover in despair,
To sigh, to languish, and to die:
Ah, how, can those fair eyes endure
To give the wounds they will not cure!
Great God of Love! why hast thou made
A face that can all hearts command,
That all religions can invade,
And change the laws of every land?
Where thou hadst placed such power before,
Thou shouldst have made her mercy more.
When Chloris to the temple comes,
Adoring crowds before her fall;
She can restore the dead from tombs,
And every life but mine recall.
I only am by love designed
To be the victim of mankind.
THE ENRAPTURED LOVER.
WHEN I lie burning in thine eye,
Or freezing in thy breast,
What martyrs in wished flames that die,
Are half so pleased or blest?
When thy soft accents through mine ear
Into my soul do fly,
What angel would not quit his sphere
To hear such harmony?
Or when the kiss thou gavest me last,
My soul stole in its breath.
What life would sooner be embraced,
Than so desired a death?
Then think no freedom I desire,
Or would my fetters leave;
Since, Phoenix-like, I from this fire
Both life and youth receive.
SPEAKING AND KISSING.
THE air which thy smooth voice doth break,
Into my soul like lightning flies;
My life retires while thou dost speak,
And thy soft breath its room supplies.
Lost in this pleasing ecstacy,
I join my trembling lips to thine, And back receive that life from thee Which I so gladly did resign.
Forbear, Platonic fools, t' inquire
What numbers do the soul compose;
No harmony can life inspire,
But that which from these accents flows.
PRAY thee let my heart alone,
Since now 'tis raised above thee;
Not all the beauty thou didst own,
Again can make me love thee.
He that was shipwrecked once before
By such a siren's call,
And yet neglects to shun that shore,
Deserves his second fall.
Each fluttering kiss, each tempting smile,
Which thou in vain bestows,
Some other lover might beguile,
Who not thy falsehood knows,
But I am proof against all art;
No vows shall e'er persuade me Twice to present a wounded heart
To her that hath betrayed me.
Could I again be brought to love
Thy form, though more divine,
I might thy scorn as justly move,
As now thou sufferest mine.
THE SUPERANNUATED LOVER.
DEAD to the soft delights of love,
Spare me! O spare me, cruel boy!
Nor seek in vain that heart to move,
Which pants no more with amorous joy.
Of old, thy faithful, hardy swain,
(When smit with fair Pastora's charms),
I served thee many a long campaign,
And wide I spread thy conquering arms.
Now, might god! dismiss thy slave,
To feeble age let youth succeed;
Recruit among the strong and brave,
And kindly spare an invalid.
Adieu, fond hopes, fantastic cares!
Ye killing joys, ye pleasing pains?
My soul for better guests prepares;
Reason restored, and Virtue reigns.
But why, my Chloe! tel me why,
Why trickles down this sixst fear?
Why do those blushes rise and die ?
Why stand I mute when thou art here?
E'en sleep affords my soul no rest,
Thee bathing in the stream I view;
With thee I dance, with thee I feast,
Thee through the gloomy grove pursue.
Triumphant god of gay desires!
Thy vassal's raging pains remove;
I burn, I burn, with fiereer fires,
Oh! take my life, or crown my love!
WILLIAM SOMERVILLE.
THE RELAPSE.
Он, turn away those cruel eyes,
The stars of my undoing!
Or death in such a bright disguise,
May tempt a second wooing.
Punish their blindly impious pride
Who dare contemn thy glory:
It was my fall that deified
Thy name, and sealed thy story.
Yet no new sufferings can prepare
A higher praise to crown thee;
Though my first death proclaim thee fai,
My second will unthrone thee.
Lovers will doubt thou canst entice
No other for thy fuel;
And, if thou burn one victim twice,
Both think thee poor and cruel.
THOMAS STANLEY,
FAIR, SWEET, AND YOUNG, RECEIVE A PRIZE.
FAIR, Sweet, and young, receive a prize
Reserved for your victorious eyes:
From crowds, whom at yoùr feet you see,
O pity and distinguish me!
As I, from thousand beauties more,
Distinguish you, and only you adore.
Your face for conquest was designed;
Your every motion charms my mind;
Angels, when you your silence break,
Forget their hymns to hear you speak;
But when, at once, they hear and view,
Are loath to mount, and long to stay with you.
No graces can your form improve,
But all are lost unless you love;
While that sweet passion you disdain,
Your veil and beauty are in vain :
In pity then prevent my fate,
For after dying all reprieve's too late.
HOW SWEET IT IS TO LOVE.
Ан, how sweet it is to love!
Ah, how gay is young Desire!
And what pleasing pains we prove
When we first approach Love's fire!
Pains of love be sweeter far
Than all other pleasure: are.
Sighs which are from lovers blown
Do but gently heave the heart:
E'en the tears they shed alone
Cure like trickling balm their smart.
Lovers, when they lose their breath,
Bleed away in easy death.
Love and Time with reverence use!
Treat them like a parting friend:
Nor the golden gifts refuse
Which in youth sincere they send :
For each year their price is more,
And they less simple than before.
Love, like spring-tides full and high,
Swells in every youthful vein :
But each tide does less supply,
Till they quite shrink in again;
If a flow in age appear,
'Tis but rain, and runs not clear.
INDIFFERENCE EXCUSED.
LOVE, when 'tis true, needs not the aid
Of sigh, nor oaths, to make it known:
And to convince the cruel'st maid,
Lovers should use their love alone.
Into their very looks 'twill steal,
And he that most would hide his flame
Does in that case his pain reveal:
Silence itself can love proclaim.
This, my Aurelia, made me shun
The paths that common lovers tread,
Whose guilty passions are begun,
Not in their heart, but in their head.
I could not sigh, and with crossed arms
Accuse your rigor, and my fate;
Nor tax your beauty with such charms
As men adore, and women hate;
But careless loved, and without art,
Knowing my love you must have spied;
And thinking it a foolish part
To set to show what none can hide.
SIR CHARLES SEDLEY.
EVENING now from purple wings
Sheds the grateful gifts she brings;
Brilliant drops bedeck the mead.
Cooling breezes shake the reed;
Shake the reed, and curl the stream
Silvered o'er with Cynthia's beam;
Near the chequered, lonely grove,
Hears and keeps thy secrets, Love!
Stella, thither let us stray,
Lightly o'er the dewy way.
Phoebus drives his burning car,
Hence, my lovely Stella, far;
In his stead the queen of night
Round us pours a lambent light:
Light that seems but just to show
Breasts that beat, and cheeks that glow;
Let us now, in whispered joy,
Evening's silent hours employ;
Silence best, the conscious shades,
Please the hearts that love invades ;
Other pleasures give them pain,
Lovers all but love disdain.
I SAID to my heart, between sleeping and waking,
"Thou wild thing, that always art leaping or aching,
What black, brown, or fair, in what clime, in what nation,
By turns has not taught thee a pit-a-patation ?"
Thus accused, the wild thing gave this sober reply:-
"See, the heart without motion, though Celia pass by!
Not the beauty she has, not the wit that she borrows,
Give the eye any joys, or the heart any sorrows.
"When our Sappho appears-she, whose wit so refined,
I am forced to applaud with the rest of mankind-
Whatever she says is with spirit and fire;
Every word I attend, but I only admire.
"Prudentia as vainly would put in her claim,
Ever gazing on heaven, though man is her aim:
'Tis love, not devotion, that turns up her eyes-
Those stars of this world are too good for the skies.
"But Chloe so lively, so easy, so fair,
Her wit so genteel, without art, without care
When she comes in my way-the notion, the pain,
The leapings, the achings, return all again."
O wonderful creature! a woman of reason!
Never grave out of pride, never gay out of season;
When so easy to guess who this angel should be,
Would one think Mrs. Howard ne'er dreamt it was she?
EARL OF PETERBOROUGH.
THE DISSEMBLERS.
THE merchant, to secure his treasure,
Conveys it in a borrowed name;
Euphelia serves to grace my measure,
But Chloe is my real flame.
My softest verse, my darling lyre,
Upon Euphelia's toilet lay,
When Chloe noted her desire
That I should sing, that I should play.
My lyre I tune, my voice I raise,
But with my numbers mix my sighs;
And while I sing Euphelia's praise,
I fix my soul on Chloe's eyes.
Fair Chloe blushed; Euphelia frowned.
I sung and gazed; I played and trembled:
And Venus, to the Loves around,
Remarked how ill we all dissembled.
'TWAS WHEN THE SEAS WERE ROARING.
"TWAS when the seas were roaring
With hollow blasts of wind,
A damsel lay deploring,
All on a rock reclined:
Wide o'er the foaming billows
She cast a wistfu! look;
Her head was crowned with willows,
That trembled o'er the brook.
"Twelve months are gone and over.
And nine long tedious days;
Why didst thou, venturous lover,
Why didst thou trust the seas?
Cease, cease, thou cruel ocean,
And let a lover rest:
Ah! what's thy troubled motion
To that within my breast?
"The merchant, robbed of pleasure,
Views tempests in despair;
But what's the loss of treasure
To losing of my dear?
Should you some coast be laid on,
Where gold ar diamonds grow, You may find some richer maiden, But none that loves you so.
THE SHAPE ALONE LET OTHERS PRIZE
THE shape alone let others prize,
The features of the fair;
I look for spirit in her eyes,
And meaning in her air..
A damask cheek, an ivory arm,
Shall ne'er my wishes win;
Give me an animated form
That speaks a mind within.
A face where lawful honor shines, Where sense and sweetness move, And angel innocence refines
The tenderness of love.
These are the soul of Beauty's frame, Without whose vital aid,
Unfinished all her features seem,
And all her roses dead.
But, ah! where both their charms unite,
How perfect is the view;
With every image of delight,
With graces ever new.
Of power to charm, the greatest wo,
The wildest rage control,
Diffusing mildness o'er the brow,
And rapture through the soul.
Their power but faintly to express
All language must despair;
But go, behold Arpasia's face,
And read it perfect there.
FOR EVER, FORTUNE, WILT THOU PROVE.
FOR ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove
An unrelenting foe to Love,
And when we meet a mutual heart,
Come in between, and bid us part?
Bid us sigh on from day to day,
And wish, and wish the soul away;
Till youth and genial years are flown,
And all the love of life is gone?
But busy, busy still art thou,
To bind the loveless, joyless vow,
The heart from pleasure to delude,
To join the gentle to the rude.
For once, O Fortune! hear my prayer,
And I absolve thy future care;
All other blessings I resign,
Make but the dear Amanda mine.
THE SCHOLAR'S RELAPSE.
By the side of a grove, at the foot of a hill,
Where whispered the beech, and where murmured the rill
I vowed to the Muses my time and my care,
Since neither could win me the smiles of my fair.
Free I ranged like the birds, like the birds free I sung,
And Delia's loved name scarce escaped from my tongue
But if once a smooth accent delighted my ear,
I should wish, unawares, that my Delia might hear.
With fairest ideas my bosom I stored,
Allusive to none at the nymph I adored;
And the more I with study my fancy refined,
The deeper impression she made on my mind.
So long as of Nature the charms I pursue,
I still must my Delia's dear image renew;
The Graces have yielded with Delia to rove,
And the ses are all in alliance with Love.
WILLIAM SHENITOKE
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