« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »
Thither lead the lovely fair,
Only while we love we live,
Rapture more than folly knows,
Ask me not of womans arts,
AH delights the heart can know,
fweet it is to love!
H, how sweet it is to love!
desire! And what pleasing pains we prove,
When we first approach loves fire ;
Sighs, which are from lovers blown,
Do but gently heave the heart : 'Ev'n the tears they shed alone,
Cure, like trickling balm, their smart;
* In the tragedy of Tyrannick Love,
Lovers, when they lose their breath,
Love and time with reverence use,
Treat 'em like a parting friend ; Nor the golden gists refuse,
Which, in youth, sincere they send,
more, And they lefs fimple than before.
Love, like spring-tides full and high,
Swells in every youthful vein: But each tide does less supply,
Till they quite fhrink in again ; If a flow in age appear, 'Tis but rain, and runs not clear.
WHAT IS LO VE?
OVE's no irregular desire,
No sudden start of raging pain, Which in a moment grows a fire,
And in a moment cools again.
Not found in the fad fonneteer,
That fings of darts, despair, and chains, And by whose dismal verse, 'tis clear,
He wants not heart alone, but brains.
Nor does it center in the beau,
Who fighs by rule, by order dies, : Whose all consists in outward show,
And want of wit by dress supplies.
No, Love is something so divine,
Description would but make it less: 'Tis what I feel, but can't define;
'Tis what I know, but can't express.
s O N G VI.
BY MR. HENRY CARE Y*.
OVE's a gentle gen'rous passion,
Source of all sublime delight, When with mutual inclination
Two fond hearts in one unite.
What are titles, pomp or riches,
If compar’d with true content ? That false joy, which now bewitches,
When obtain'd we may repent.
Lawlefs paffions bring vexation,
But a chaste and constant love, Is a glorious emulation
Of the blissful ftate above.
* In The Honest Yorkshireman, a ballad farce.
H If in all thy love there ever
ONEST lover whatsoever,
love there ever
And to love true,
If when she appears