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We neither believe what either can say,
"Tis civil to swear, and say things of course;
S O N G
BY MR, MATHEW CONCANEN.
Love thee, by heavens, I cannot say more ;
Then set not my passion a cooling ;
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?
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 :
If she made many words to a bargain.
I'm a quaker in love, and but barely affirm
Whate'er my fond eyes have been saying :
But e’en throw thy yea or thy nay in.
I cannot bear love, like a chancery suit,
The age of a patriarch depending;
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.
BY EUSTACE BUDGELL ESQ.
''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.
IVE me more love, or more disdain;
The torrid, or the frozen zone
The temperate affords me none :
Give me a storm ; if it be love,
Like Danae in a golden show'r
Disdain, that torrent will devour
* In the comedy of The Funeral,
My vulture hopes; and he's poffefs'd
SON G XXII.
DISPRAISE OF LOVE, AND LOVERS FOLLIES.
BY FRANCIS DAVISON.
F love be life, I long to die,
Live they that list for me :
A fool, at least shall be.
Unhappy life they gain,
In day by fained looks they live,
By lying dreams by night,
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,
If void she seem of joy,
Such is the peace that lovers find,
Such is the life they lead;
Like flowers in the mead.
Though dead, in midst of life;
yet at strife.
* 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.