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We neither believe what either can say,
And neither believing, we neither betray.

"Tis civil to swear, and say things of course;
We mean not the taking for better for worse :
When present we love; when absent agree;
I think not of Iris, nor Iris of me:
The legend of Love no couple can find,
So easy to part, or so equally join'd.

S O N G

XVIII.

BY MR, MATHEW CONCANEN.

I

Love thee, by heavens, I cannot say more ;

Then set not my passion a cooling ;
If thou yield'st not at once I must e’en give thee o'er,

For I'm but a novice at fooling.

What my love wants in words, it shall make up in deeds:

Then why should we waste time in stuff, child?
A performance, you wot well, a promise exceeds,

And a word to the wise is enough, child.

I know how to love, and to make that love known,

But I hate all protesting and arguing :
Had a goddess my heart, she should e’en lie alone,

If she made many words to a bargain.

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I'm a quaker in love, and but barely affirm

Whate'er my fond eyes have been saying :
Prithee, be thou so too; seek for no better term,

But e’en throw thy yea or thy nay in.

I cannot

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I cannot bear love, like a chancery suit,

The age of a patriarch depending;
Then pluck up a spirit, no longer be mute,

Give it, one way or other, an ending.

Long courtship’s the vice of a phlegmatic fool,

Like the grace of fanatical finners, Where the stomachs are loft, and the victuals grow cool,

Before men sit down to their dinners.

SONG XIX.

BY EUSTACE BUDGELL ESQ.

· I'M

''M not one of your fops, who to please a coy lass,

Can lie whining and pining, and look like an ass. Life is dull without love, and not worth the poffefling; But fools make a curse what was meant for a blessing. While his godship’s not rude, I'll allow him my breast; But, by Jove, out he goes, should he once break my rest. I can toy with a girl for an hour, to allay The Auster of youth, or the ferment of May; But must beg her excuse, not to bear pain or anguilh ; For that's not to love, by her leave, but to languish.

SONG

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G

IVE me more love, or more disdain;

The torrid, or the frozen zone
Brings equal ease unto my pain ;

The temperate affords me none :
Either extreme, of love, or hate,
Is sweeter than a calm estate.

Give me a storm ; if it be love,

Like Danae in a golden show'r
I swim in pleasure ; if it prove

Disdain, that torrent will devour

* In the comedy of The Funeral,

My

My vulture hopes; and he's poffefs'd
Of Heav'n, that's but from hell releas'd:
Then crown my joys, or cure my pain ;
Give me more love, or more disdain.

SON G XXII.

DISPRAISE OF LOVE, AND LOVERS FOLLIES.

BY FRANCIS DAVISON.

I

F love be life, I long to die,

Live they that list for me :
And he that gains the most thereby,

A fool, at least shall be.
But he that feels the forest fits,
Scapes with no less than loss of wits ;

Unhappy life they gain,
Which love do entertain.

In day by fained looks they live,

By lying dreams by night,
Each frown a deadly wound doth give,

Each smile a false delight,

* Son of William Davison, secretary to Queen Elizabeth, who suffered so much through that princesses caprice and cruelty in the tragical affair of Mary Queen of Scots.

If't hap the lady pleasant seem,
It is for others love they deem :

If void she seem of joy,
Disdain doth make her coy.

Such is the peace that lovers find,

Such is the life they lead;
Blown here and there with every wind,

Like flowers in the mead.
Now war, now peace, now war again ;
Defire, despair, delight, disdain :

Though dead, in midst of life;
In
peace,

and

yet at strife.

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* A voluminous writer in the earlier part of the last century. From his long, dull, puritanical rhimes, he has acquired the name and character of the English Bavius. His more juvenile pieces, however, of which the above is a specimen, would not discredit the best writer of that age.

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