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Her mouth, from whence wit still obligingly flows,
Has the beautiful blush, and the smell of the rose;
Love and Destiny both attend on her will,
She wounds with a look, with a frown she can kill.

The desperate lover can hope no redress,
Where beauty and rigour are both in excess ;
In Sylvia they meet, so unhappy am I,
Who sees her, must love her, who loves her, muft die.

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SONG XXVII.

T

AKE, oh take those lips away,

That so sweetly were forsworn;
And those eyes, the break of day,

Lights that do mislead the morn:
But my kiffes bring again,
Seals of love, but seal'd in vain.

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* This delicious little sonnet has been generally ascribed to Shakspeare, but it is far from certain that he was the author of it. The first ftanza is sung in Measure for Measure, and both verses are to be found in one of Beaumont and Fletchers plays.

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SON G XXVIII.

BY EDMUND WALLER ES

Go lovely rose!

o rose! Tell her that wastes her time, and me,

That now she knows,
When I resemble her to thee,
How sweet and fair she seems to be.

Tell her that's

young, And shuns to have her graces spied,

That hadft thou sprung
In deserts, where no men abide,
Thou must have uncommended died.

Small is the worth
Of beauty from the light retird;

Bid her come forth,
Suffer her self to be desir'd,
And not blush fo to be admir'd.

Then die! that the
The common fate of all things rare

May read in thee:
How small a part of time they share,
That are fo wondrous sweet, and fair.

SONG

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Go,

rose, Chloes

grace

e ;
How happy should I prove,
Might I supply that envied place

With never-fading love ;
There, Phenix-like, beneath her eye
Involv'd in fragrance burn and die!

Know hapless flower, that thou shalt find

More fragrant roses there;
I see thy withering head reclin'd

With envy and despair.
One common fate we both must prove,
You die with envy, I with love.

SONG XXX.

TO A LADY READING SHERLOCK UPON DEATH.

BY THE EARL OF CHESTERFIELD.

ISTAKEN fair, lay Sherlock by,

His doctrine is deceiving,
For whilft he teaches us to die,

He cheats us of our living.

* In the Fable of The Poet and the Rose.

To

To die's a lesson we shall know

Too soon, without a master; Then let us only study now

How we may live the faster.

To live's to love, to bless be bleft,

With mutual inclination;
Share then my ardour in your breast,

And kindly meet my passion.

But if thus blest, I may not live,

And pity you deny,
To me at least your Sherlock give,

"Tis I must learn to die.

SONG XXXI.

WHEN firt I fair Celinda knew,

HEN first I fair Celinda knew,

Her kindness then was great : Her eyes I could with pleasure view,

And friendly rays did meet :

In all delights we pass'd the time,

That could diversion move;
She oft would kindly hear me rhime

Upon some others love.

But, ah! at last I grew too bold,

Press’d by my growing flame; For when my passion I had told,

She hated ev'n my name :

Thus

Thus I that could her friendship boast,

And did her love pursue ;
Am taught contentment, at the cost

Of love and friendship too.

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SON G XXXII.

W

HEN fair Serrena first I knew

By friendfhips happy union charm'd, Incessant joys around her flew,

And gentle smiles my bosom warm’d.

But when, with fond officious care,

I press’d to breathe my amorous pain; Her lips spoke nought but cold despair, Her

eyes Mot ice through every vein.

Thus, in Italias lovely vales,

The sun his genial vigour yields; Reviving heat each sense regales,

And plenty crowns the smiling fields.

When nearer we approach his ray;

High on the Alps tremendous brow, Surpris'd we see pale fun-beams play

On everlasting hills of snow.

SONG

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