Roses out-red their lips and cheeks, And may the substance gain! Else I'm a servant to the glass A. BROME. TO A BEAUTY. WHAT mean those amorous curls of jet? Dost thou thy hair in order set, Thy wanton tresses braid? And thy vast store of beauties open lay, For pity hide thy starry eyes, Whose languishments destroy; And look not on the slave that dies With an excess of joy, Defend thy coral lips, thy amber breath; To taste these sweets, alas! is certain death. 168 THE CRUEL FAIR. Forbear, fond charming Youth, forbear, Thy words of melting love: Thy eyes thy language well may spare, One dart enough can move. And she that bears thy voice, and sees thy eyes, With too much pleasure, too much softness, dies. Cease, cease, with sighs to warm my soul, Or press me with thy hand: Who can the kindling fire controul, The tender force withstand? Thy sighs and touches like wing'd lightning fly, And are the God of Love's artillery. A. BEHN. THE CRUEL FAIR. Ask not the cause why sullen Spring And winter storms invert the year? Chloris is gone.-The cruel Fair, She cast not back a pitying eye, To sigh, to languish, and to die. Ah, how can those fair eyes endure Great God of Love! why hast thou made And change the laws of every land? Where thou hadst plac'd such power before, Thou shouldst have made her mercy more. When Chloris to the temple comes, I only am by Love design'd To be the victim for mankind! DRYDEN. LOVE'S REVENGE. LADIES, though to your conquering eyes And borrows those bright arms from you, 170 LOVE AND BEAUTY. Then rack not lovers with disdain, G. ETHEREGE. LOVE AND BEAUTY. GENTLE nymphs, be not refusing, They and beauty are but lent you; "Twill be said, when ye have proved, O, then, fly all nice behaviour! Let her not be out of favour. BROWNE. THE ATTEMPT. WHY should I blush and be dismayed, Since love's a power that can't be stay'd, And you as well as those before you. You which are fair, and therefore should be kind. Fair as the light, pure as the ray That in the grey-ey'd morning Leaps forth and propagates a day, Those glories which in others stray Meet all in you for your adorning. Since nature built that goodly frame, And virtue has inspir'd the same, Let love draw yours to meet my raging flame. Joy of my soul, the only thing That's my delight and glory, From you alone my love doth spring, "Twill crown our happy story. Those fires I burn with all are pure 'Twas you did wound,—'tis you that ought to cure. A. BROME. |