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Dear CELIA! be kind then! and since your own eyes
By looks can command adoration ;
Those oglings that tell you my Passion!
We'll look, and we'll love! and though neither should
speak, The pleasure we'll still be pursuing ! And so, without words, I don't doubt we may make
A very good end of this wooing!
'Grant me, gentle Love,' said I,
Thus to almighty Love I cried;
A HUE AND CRY
AFTER FAIR AMORET.
Fair AMORET is gone astray!
Pursue and seek her, ev'ry Lover ! I'll tell the signs, by which you may
The wand'ring Shepherdess discover !
Coquet and coy at once her Air,
Both studied; though both seem neglected! Careless she is, with artful care;
Affecting to seem unaffected!
With skill, her eyes dart ev'ry glance;
Yet change so soon, you'd ne'er suspect them! For she'd persuade, they wound by chance;
Though certain aim and art direct them!
She likes herself; yet others hates
For that which in herself she prizes! And, while she laughs at them, forgets
She is the thing that she despises !
Love is a scion cropped from Virtue's tree, And grafted in the stock of Purity; Planted at first in Nature's choicest soil, Before the Fiend did Nature's beauty spoil : But thence transplanted to a richer ground Than can in all Dame Nature's realm be found; Where, being well manured, it takes deep root Downward, and branches upward forth doth shoot.
The sap, which doth this stately tree maintain, Is Sympathy: which runs, as in a vein, Through every branch; causing it first to sprout, And ere awhile, young tender buds spring out !
Nor is it barren; but much fruit doth bear, To taste most pleasing, and to sight most fair : A sound substantial fruit that can endure The sharpest frost, and yet continue pure. And that ye may this fruit the more admire, Take notice, that I call it Chaste Desire !
Why, lovely Charmer! tell me, Why So very kind; and yet so shy? Why does that cold forbidding Air Give damps of sorrow and despair ? Or why that smile, my soul subdue; And kindle up my flames anew ?
In vain, you strive, with all your art, By turns, to freeze, and fire, my heart! When I behold a face so fair, So sweet a look, so soft an Air; My ravished soul is charmed all o'er! I cannot love thee less, or more!
LET not Love on me bestow
WHILE gentle PARTHENISSA walks,
If then, she labours to be seen
THE DISTRESS OF A LOVE-SICK MAID.
From place to place forlorn I go,
With downcast eyes, a silent shade!
To speak till spoken to, afraid !
My inward pangs, my secret grief,
My soft consenting looks betray!
Why speaks not he, who may ?
ME CUPID made a happy slave;
A merry wretched man!
Nor dote on those I can !
This constant maxim still I hold,
To baffle all despair,
The present, young and fair.