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SHAKESPEARE.

Gold.

Festus.

LOVE'S PAINS,

Sunshine and rain at once.

King Lear, dctiv.Sc, 3. A mighty pain to love it is,

Smiles from reason flow,
And 't is a pain that pain to miss ;
Bit of all pains, the greatest pain

To brute denied, and are of love the food.
Paradise Lost, book ix.

MILTOX It is to love, but love in vain.

A. COWLEY. The rose is fairest when 't is budding new

And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears The sweetest joy, the wildest woe is love; The rose is sweetest washed with morning dew, The taint of earth, the odor of the skies

And love is loveliest when embalmal in tears. Is in it.

Lady of the Lake, Cant. iv.

SCOTT.
P. J. BAILEY.
Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure

SHYXESS OF LOVE.
Thrill the deepest notes of woe.
Ou Sensibility.

BURXS.

Silence in love bewray's more woe

Than words, though ne 'er so witty ; Fantastic tyrant of the amorous heart,

A beggar that is dunib, you know, How hard thy yoke! how cruel is thy dart !

May challenge double pity. Those 'scape thy anger who refuse thy sway,

SIR W RALEIGH, And those are punished most who most obey.

Read it, sweet maid, though it be done but slightly;

Who can show all his love doth love but lightly. To be in love where scorn is bought with groans, Coy looks, with heart-sore sighs; one fading I never tempted her with word too large; moment's mirth,

But, as a brother to his sister, showed With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights :

Bashful sincerity, and comely love.
If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain ;

Much Ado about Nothing, Activ. Sc. i.
If lost, why then a grievous labor won.
Two Gentlemen of Verona, Acti. Sc. i.

ARTS OF LOVE.
Love is like a landscape which doth stand

Of all the pathis lead to a woman's love Smooth at a distance, rough at hand.

Pity's the straightest. On Love.

Knight of Malta, Arti. Sc. I. Vows with so much passion, swears with so much So mourned the dame of Ephesus her love; grace,

And thus the soldier, armed with resolution, That 't is a kind of heaven to be deluded by him. Told his soft tale, and was a thriving wooer. Alexander the Great, Act i. Sc. 3.

Richard III. ( Altered), Actii. Sc. I.

The Silent Lover.

Solomon.

M. PRIOR.

Sonnel.

S. DANIEL

SHAKESPEARE.

SHAKESPEARE.

R. HEGGE,

BEAUMONT and FLETCHER.

N. LEE.

COLI EY CIRBER.

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The world was sad, -the garden was a wild ;

None without hope e'er loved the brightest fair, And Man, the hermit, sighed — tiil Woman But love can hope where reason would despair. smiled.

Epigram.

GEORGE, LORD LYTTLETOX, Pleasures of Hope, Parti.

T. CAMPBELL. O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies

IDLE LOVE. In the sinall orb of one particular tear!

My only books Lozer's Complaint, St. xlii.

Were woman's looks, Sighed and looked unutterable things.

And folly's all they've taught me. 7ne Seasons, Summer.

SHAKESPEARE.

The time I've lost.

1.WRI.

THOMSON

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Ye gods ! annihilate but space and time,
And make two lovers happy.
Martinus Scriblerus on the Art of Sinking in Poetry, Ch. t.

POPB.

Lovers' hours are long, though seeming short.

l'enus and Adenis.

SHAKESPEARE.

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TO

WORDSWORTH.

SHAKESPEARE

BYRON.

BYRON.

MILTO

True beauty dwells in deep retreats,

Dear as the light that visits these sad eres ; Whose veil is unremioved

Dear as the ruidy drops that warm my heart. Till heart with heart in concord beats,

The Bard, i. 3.

T. GRAY. And the lover is beloved.

As dear to me as are the ruddy drops

That visit my sad heart.
O that the desert were my dwelling place,

Julius Casar, Act. ii. Sc. I.
With one fair Spirit for my minister,
That I might all forget the human race,

With thee conversing I forget all time ;
And, hating no one, love but only her !

All seasons and their change, all please alike. Childe Harold, Cant. iv. With thee, all toils are sweet; each clime hath But neither breath of morn when she ascends charins ;

With charm of earliest birds, nor rising sun Earth - sea alike

our world within our arms. On this delightful land, nor herb, fruit, flower, The Bride of Abydos.

Glistering with dew, nor fragrance after showers,
Nor grateful evening mild, nor silent night
With this her solemn bird, nor walk hy moon.

Or glittering starlight, without thee is sweet.
TRUE LOVE.

Paradise Lost, Bookiv.
Love is a celestial harmony
Of likely hearts.
Hymn in Honor of Beauty.

CONSTANCY.
The Gods approve

All love is sweet,
The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul;
A fervent, not ungovernable, love.

Given or returned. Common as light is love,

And its familiar voice wearies not ever. Thy transports moderate.

Prometheus Unbound, Ac. ii. Sc. 5. Laotamia.

Love is indestructible: In his deportment, shape, and mien appeared

Its holy flanie forever burneth ; Elysian beauty, melancholy grace,

Froin Heaven it came, to Heaven returneth ;
Brought from a pensive, though a happy place.
He spake of love, such love as Spirits feel

It soweth here with toil and care,
In worlds whose course is equable and pure ;
No fears to beat away,

But the harvest-time of Love is there.
no strife to heal,
Curse of Keham, Cant. x.

R. SOL'THEY The past unsighed for, and the future sure.

WORDSWORTH. They sin who tell us Love can die :

With Life all other passions fly, There's beggary in the love that can be reckoneil.

All others are but vanity. Antony and Cleopatra, Act. 1, Sc. I.

Curse of Kehama, Cant. x.

SPENSER.

SHELLFY.

WORDSWORTH.

Laodamia.

SHAKESPEAKE.

R. SOUTHEY.

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MARRIAGE.

THOMAS KIRBLE HERVFY.

SHAKESPEARE.

SONNET.

Love's life is in its own replies, –

To each low beat it beats,
Let me not to the marriage of true minds Smiles back the smiles, sighs back the sighs,
Ailmit impediments : love is not love,

And every throb repeats.
Which alters when it alteration finds,

Then, since one loving heart still throws Or bends with the remover to remove;

Two shadows in love's sun, (), no! it is an ever-fixed mark,

How should two loving hearts compose
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken; And mingle into one?
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth 's unknown, although his height be

taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and THOU HAST SWORN BY THY GOD, MY
cheeks

JEANIE.
Within his bending sickle's compass come ;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, Thou hast sworn by thy God, my Jeanie,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

By that pretty white hand o' thine,
If this be error, and upon me proved,

And by a' the lowing stars in heaven,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

That thou wad aye be mine!
And I hae sworn by my God, my Jeanie,

And by that kind heart o' thine,
By a' the stars sown thick owre heaven,

That thou shalt aye be mine!
LOVE.

Then foul fa' the hands that waid loose sic bands
THERE are who say the lover's heart

And the heart that wad part sic luve! Is in the loved one's merged ;

But there 's nae hand can loose the band, 0, never by love's own warm art

But the finger o' God abuve.
So cold a plea was urged!

Though the wee, wee cot mann be my lielil,
No! ---- hearts that love hath crowned or crossed An' my claithing ne'er sae mean,
Love fondly knits together;

I wad lap me up rich i’ the faulds o' luve,
But not a thought or hue is lost

Heaven's armfu'o' my Jean! That made a part of either.

Her white arm wad be a pillow to me,

Fu' safter than the down;

An' Luve wad winnow owre us his kind, kind It is an ill-told tale that tells

wings, Of “hearts by love made one;"

An' sweetly I 'd sleep, an' soun'. !Ie grows who near another's dwells

Come here to me, thon lass o' my luve! More conscious of his own ;

Come here and kneel wi' me! in each spring up new thoughts and powers

The morn is fu'o' the presence o' God, That, mid love's warm, clear weather,

An' I canna pray without thee. Together tend like climbing Howers,

The morn-wind is sweet 'mang the beds o' new And, turning, grow together.

flowers,

The wee birds sing kiulie an' hie ; Such fictions blink love's better part,

Our gudeman leans oure his kail-yard dike, Yield up its half of bliss ;

And a blythe auld bodie is he. The wells are in the neighbor heart

The Book maun be ta'en whan the carle comes When there is thirst in this:

hame, There findeth love the passion-flowers

Wi’ the holie psalmodie ; On which it learns to thrive,

And thou mann speak o' me to thy God, Makes honey in another's bowers,

And I will speak o' thee. But brings it home to hive.

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ALLAN CUNNINGHAM

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