With this fhe feizeth on his fweating palm,
The prefident of pith and livelihood,
And trembling in her paffion calls it balm;
Earth's fovereign falve to do a goddefs good.
Being fo enrag'd, defire doth lend her force,
Courageoufly to pluck him from his horse.
"this stany Over one arm the lufty courfer's rein,
and the two Under the other was the tender boy,
following Who blufh'd and pouted in a dull difdain,
afford good With leaden appetite, unapt to toy.
She red and hot, as coals of glowing fire,
He red for fhame, but frofty in defire.
homes, & The ftudded bridle, on a ragged bough,
making Nimbly the faftens (O how quick is love!)
everything The fteed is ftalled up, and even now
mesent to To tie the rider fhe begins to prove.
the imag
Backward she push'd him, as she would be thrust,
And govern'd him in ftrength, tho' not in luft.
With the films, So foon was fhe along, as he was down,
Each leaning on their elbows and their hips:
hassions Now doth the ftroke his cheek, now doth he frown,
And 'gins to chide, but foon fhe ftops his lips:
And kiffing fpeaks, with luftful language broken,
If thou wilt chide, thy lips fhall never open.
which
mrdiby those forms,
Wither actio=
cally as in He burns with bafhful fhame; fhe, with her tears,
Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks:
Then with her windy fighs and golden hairs,
To fan and blow them dry again the feeks.
the repres Mubations.
of love, com
He says she is immodeft, blames her miss; the What follows more, fhe fmothers with a kiss. ruman affections; is imaginatively, by the different manner in which inanimate objects, or object, un= - impassioned them setres, are caused to be seen the mind in moments of string excitement, and according to the kind of the excitement, - whether f jealoney, to rage to rage, to love, in the mly ashespriate
Even as an empty eagle, fharp by fast,
Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh and bone,
Shaking her wings, devouring all in hafte,
Till either gorge be ftufft, or prey be gone:
Even fo fhe kifs'd his brow, his cheek, his chin,
And where she ends, fhe doth anew begin.
Forc'd to confent, but never to obey,
Panting he lies, and breathing in her face:
She feedeth on the steam as on a prey,
And calls it, heavenly moisture! air of grace!
Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers,
So they were dew'd with fuch diftilling fhowers.
Look how a bird lies tangled in a net,
So faften'd in her arms Adonis lies:
Pure fhame and aw'd refiftance made him fret;
Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes.
Rain added to a river, that is rank,
Perforce will force it overflow the bank.
Still fhe entreats, and prettily entreats;
For to a pretty ear fhe tunes her tale :
Still he is fullen, ftill he lowers and frets,
'Twixt crimson fhame, and anger ashy pale.
Being red, fhe loves him beft; and being white,
Her breaft is better'd with a more delight.
Look how he can, fhe cannot chufe but love;
And by her fair immortal hand she swears,
From his foft bofom never to remove,
Till he take truce with her contending tears;
Which long have rain'd, making her cheeks all wet,
And one sweet kifs fhall pay this countless debt.
Hive of the und, of the lower impulses of our nature, rfinally of the poetic feeling itself. It is, perhaps, chiefly in the power of producing & referncing the latter that the pict stands distinct "S.2.C.
Upon this promife did he raise his chin,
Like a dive-dapper peering thro' a wave,
Who, being look'd on, ducks as quickly in:
So offers he to give what fhe did crave:
But when his lips were ready for his pay,
He winks, and turns his lips another way..
Never did paffenger, in fummer's heat,
More thirst for drink, than fhe for this good turn;
Her help the fees, but help the cannot get,
She bathes in water, yet in fire must burn.
Oh pity, 'gan fhe cry, flint-hearted boy!
'Tis but a kifs I beg, why art thou coy ?
I have been woo'd, as I intreat thee now,
Even by the ftern and direful god of war,
Whose finewy neck in battle ne'er did bow,
Who conquers where he comes in every jar:
Yet hath he been my captive and my flave,
And beg'd for that which thou unask'd shalt have.
Over my altars hath he hung his lance,
H's batter'd fhield, his uncontrolled creft;
And for my fake hath learn'd to fport and dance,
To coy, to wanton, dally, fmile and jeft;
Scorning his churlifh drum, and enfign red,
Making my arms his field, his tent my bed.
Thus he, that over-rul'd, I over-fway'd,
Leading him prifoner in a red rofe chain:
Strong temper'd fteel, his ftronger ftrength obey'd,
Yet was he fervile to my coy difdain.
Oh be not proud, nor brag not of thy might,
For mastring her, that foil'd the god of fight!
Touch but my lips with thofe fair lips of thine,
(Tho' mine be not fo fair, yet they are red).
The kifs fhall be thine own as well as mine;
What feeft thou on the ground? hold up thy head:
Look in mine eye-balls where thy beauty lies,
Then why not lips on lips, fince eyes on eyes?
Art thou afham'd to kifs? then wink again,
And I will wink, fo fhall the day feem night,
Love keeps his revels, where there be but twain;
Be bold to play, our sport is not in fight.
These blue-vein'd violets, whereon we lean,
Never can blab, nor know they what we mean.
The tender fpring, upon thy tempting lip,
Shews thee unripe; yet may'ft thou well be tafted:
Make use of time, let not advantage flip,
Beauty within itself would not be wasted.
Fair flowers, that are not gather'd in their prime,
Rot and confume themselves in little time.
Were I hard favour'd, foul, or wrinkled old,
Ill-natur'd, crooked, churlish, harfh in voice,
O'er-worn, defpised, rheumatic and cold,
Thick-fighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice,
Then mightft thou paufe, for then I were not for
But, having no defects, why doft abhor me? [thee,
Thou can'ft not fee one wrinkle in my brow,
Mine eyes are grey, and bright, and quick in turning;
My beauty, as the fpring, doth yearly grow;
My flesh as foft and plump, my marrow burning;
My smooth moift hand, were it with thy hand felt,
Would in thy palm diffolve, or feem to melt.
Bid me difcourfe, I will inchant thine ear,
Or, like a fairy, trip upon the green;
Or, like a nymph, with long difhevel'd hair,
Dance on the fands, and yet no footing feen.
Love is a fpirit all compact of fire,
Not grofs to fink, but light, and will aspire.
Witnefs this primrose-bank, whereon I lie,
The forcelefs flowers, like fturdy trees, fupport me :
Two ftrengthlefs doves will draw me thro' the fky
From morn till night, even where I lift to fport me.
Is love fo light, fweet boy, and may it be,
That thou fhouldst think it heavy unto thee?
Is thine own heart to thine own face affected?
Can thy right hand feize love upon thy left?
Then wooe thyfelf, be of thyfelf rejected,
Steal thine own freedom, and complain of theft.
Narciffus fo himself, himself forfook,
And dy'd to kifs his fhadow in the brook.
Torches are made to light, jewels to wear,
Dainties to tafte, fresh beauty for the use,
Herbs for their fmell, and fappy plants to bear;
Things growing to themselves are growth's abufe:
Seeds fpring from feeds, and beauty breedeth
Thou wert begot, to get it is thy duty." [beauty;
Upon the earth's increase why fhouldst thou feed,
Unless the earth with thy increase be fed?
By law of nature thou art bound to breed,
That thine may live, when thou thyself art dead :V
And fo, in fpight of death, thou doft furvive,
In that thy likeness ftill is left alive.
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