HORACE

What if our ancient love return,
And bind us with a closer tie,
If I the fair-haired Chloë spurn,
And as of old for Lydia sigh?

LYDIA

Though lovelier than yon star is he,
Thou fickle as an April sky,

More churlish, too, than Adria's sea,
With thee I'd live, with thee I'd die!

Horace

129

WH

HY so pale and wan, fond lover?
Prythee, why so pale?

Will, when looking well can't move her,

Looking ill prevail?

Prythee, why so pale?

Why so dull and mute, young sinner?

Prythee, why so mute?

Will, when speaking well can't win her,

Saying nothing do't?

Prythee, why so mute?

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!

Sir John Suckling

130

THE MANLY HEART

HALL I, wasting in despair,

SHALL

Die because a woman's fair?
Or make pale my cheeks with care
'Cause another's rosy are?

Be she fairer than the day
Or the flowery meads in May-

If she think not well of me,
What care I how fair she be?

Shall my silly heart be pined
'Cause I see a woman kind;
Or a well disposèd nature
Joinèd with a lovely feature?
Be she meeker, kinder, than
Turtle-dove or pelican,

If she be not so to me,

What care I how kind she be?

Shall a woman's virtues move
Me to perish for her love?
Or her well-deservings known
Make me quite forget mine own?
Be she with that goodness blest
Which may merit name of Best;
If she be not such to me,

What care I how good she be?

'Cause her fortune seems too high,
Shall I play the fool and die?
She that bears a noble mind,
If not outward helps she find,

Thinks what with them he would do
That without them dares her woo;
And unless that mind I see,
What care I how great she be?

Great or good, or kind or fair,
I will ne'er the more despair;
If she love me, this believe,
I will die ere she shall grieve;
If she slight me when I woo,
I can scorn and let her go;

For if she be not for me,

What care I for whom she be?

George Wither

131

D

DUNCAN GRAY

UNCAN GRAY cam here to woo,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't,

On blythe Yule night when we were fou,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't:

Maggie coost her head fu' high,
Looked asklent and unco skeigh,
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh;
Ha, ha, the wooing o't!

Duncan fleeched, and Duncan prayed;
Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig;
Duncan sighed baith out and in,

Grat his een baith bleer't and blin',
Spak o' lowpin ower a linn!

Abeigh: back, aloof

Bleer't: bleared, dimmed
Fleeched: begged, coaxed
Fou: full, tipsy

Gart: made

Grat: cried

Linn: waterfall

Lowpin: leaping
Skeigh: coy, saucy
Unco: remarkably

132

Time and chance are but a tide,
Slighted love is sair to bide;
Shall I, like a fool, quoth he,
For a haughty hizzie dee?

She may gae to-France for me!

How it comes let doctors tell,

Meg grew sick

—as he grew heal;

Something in her bosom wrings,
For relief a sigh she brings;

And O, her een, they spak sic things!

Duncan was a lad o' grace;

Ha, ha, the wooing o't!

Maggie's was a piteous case;

Ha, ha, the wooing o't!

Duncan couldna be her death,
Swelling pity smoored his wrath;

Now they're crouse and canty baith:

Ha, ha, the wooing o't!

Robert Burns

How

OW delicious is the winning
Of a kiss at love's beginning,
When two mutual hearts are sighing
For the knot there's no untying!

Yet remember, 'midst your wooing,
Love has bliss, but Love has ruing;
Other smiles may make you fickle,
Tears for other charms may trickle.

Canty: gay
Crouse: jolly

Hizzie: hussy, girl

Smoored: smothered

Love he comes, and Love he tarries,
Just as fate or fancy carries;

Longest stays, when sorest chidden;

Laughs and flies, when pressed and bidden.

Bind the sea to slumber stilly,
Bind its odor to the lily,

Bind the aspen ne'er to quiver,
Then bind Love to last for ever.

Love's a fire that needs renewal
Of fresh beauty for its fuel:

Love's wing molts when caged and captured,
Only free, he soars enraptured.

Can you keep the bee from ranging
Or the ringdove's neck from changing?
No! nor fettered Love from dying
In the knot there's no untying.

Thomas Campbell

133

L

ET me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

O no! it is an ever-fixèd mark

That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;

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 cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come;