And in my soul am free,--
Angels alone, that soar above,
Enjoy such liberty.
Richard Lovelace.
A MOCK SONG.
Tis true I never was in love:
But now I mean to be,
For there's no art
Can shield a heart
From love's supremacy.
Though in my nonage I have seen
A world of taking faces,
I had not age or wit to ken
Their several hidden graces.
Those virtues which, though thinly set,
In others are admired,
In thee are altogether met,
Which make thee so desired.
That though I never was in love,
Nor never meant to be,
Thyself and parts
Above my arts
Have drawn my heart to thee.
Alexander Brome.
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 ecstasy,
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.
Thomas Stanley.
LADIES' CONQUERING EYES.
Ladies, though to your conquering eyes
Love owes its chiefest victories,
And borrows those bright arms from you
With which he does the world subdue;
Yet you yourselves are not above
The empire nor the griefs of love.
Then rack not lovers with disdain,
Lest love on you revenge their pain:
You are not free because you're fair,
The Boy did not his mother spare:
Though beauty be a killing dart,
It is no armour for the heart.
George Etherege.
DORINDA.
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,
Smooth are his looks and soft his pace;
Her Cupid is a blackguard boy
That runs his link full in your face.
Charles Sackville.
CELIA AND SYLVIA.
Celia is cruel. Sylvia, thou,
I must confess art kind;
But in her cruelty, I vow,
I more repose can find.
For, oh! thy fancy at all games does fly,
Fond of address, and willing to comply.
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