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THE RECONCILEMEN T.
BY THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM,
OME, let us now resolve at last
To live and love in quiet:
That time shall ne'er untie it.
The truest joys they feldom prove,
Who free from quarrels live; 'Tis the most tender
of love Each other to forgive.
When least I seem'd concern'd, I took
No pleasure, nor no rest;
Say but the fame to me, you'll find
How bleft will be our fate;
Sure, never is too late.
BY MR. CON GRE V E.
ALSE though she be to me and love,
I'll ne'er pursue revenge ;
In hours of bliss we oft have met,
They could not always last;
I'm grateful for the past.
BY MR. ADDISON".
F 'tis joy to wound a lover,
How much more to give him ease,
Ah! how pleasing 'tis to please :
* In the opera of Rosamond.
LO V E
FOR LO V E.
BY SIR FULKE GRE VILL, LORD BROOKE.
WAY with these self-loving lads,
Whom Cupids arrow never glads !
For Cupid is a merry god,
Sweet Cupids shafts like destiny
What fools are they that have not known,
My songs they be of Cynthias praise,
Where Honour Cupids rival is
If Cynthia crave her ring of me,
For many run, but one muft win!
The worth that worthiness should move
Sweet faint, 'tis true, you worthy be:
BY JOHN. BULTE EL*,
C Truly to know each others breaft;
NHLORIS, 'twill be for eithers rest
Truly to know each others breast;
If you will deal but so with me,
Know then, though you were twice as fair,
Yet, if you lov'd me not, you'd see
* A person, of whom, it is believed, nothing more is known, than that he was the collector of a small miscellany, published about the middle of the last century, whence this and another song are extracted, both of which were ascribed to him by manuscript notes in a copy the editor has seen : it was therefor but justice to prefix his name.
Though Ila thousand times had sworn
Yet, if to me you prov'd untrue,
If love I vow'd to pay for hate,
I bragg'd as cowards use to do,
And now my tenets I have show'd,
think them too great a load ; T'attempt your change were but in vain, The conquest not being worth the pain :
With them I'll other nymphs subdue ;
SON G XVII.
BY MR. DRYDEN *,
AIR Iris I love, and hourly I die,
But not for a lip, nor a languising eye;
In the comedy of Amphitryon.