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At course-a-park, without all But she would not, she

doubt,

He should have first been taken

out

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nice,

was

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She would not do't in sight; And then she looked as who

should say,

By all the maids i' th' town; Though lusty Roger there had I will do what I list to-day,

been,

Or little George upon the Green, Or Vincent of the Crown.

But wot you what? the youth was going

To make an end of all his wooing,

The parson for him stayed; Yet by his leave, for all his haste, He did not so much wish all past, Perchance, as did the maid. 30

The maid-and thereby hangs a tale:

For such a maid no Whitsun ale
Could ever yet produce;
No grape that's kindly ripe could
be

So round, so plump, so soft as she,
Nor half so full of juice.

And you shall do't at night.

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does speak Thou'dst swear her teeth her words did break,

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FROM The Last Remains, 1659
The Stationer to the Reader.

Among the highest and most refined wits of the nation, this gentle and princely poet took his generous rise from the court, where, having flourished with splendor and reputation, he lived only long enough to see the sunset of that majesty from whose auspicious beams he derived his luster, and with whose declining state his own loyal fortunes were obscured. But after the several changes of those times, being sequestered from the more serene contentments of his native country, he first took care to secure the dearest and choicest of his papers in the several cabinets of his noble and faithful friends; and among other testimonies of his worth, these elegant and florid pieces of his fancy were preserved in the custody of his truly honorable and virtuous sister, with whose free permission they were transcribed, and now published exactly according to the original.

This might be sufficient to make you acknowledge that these are the real and genuine works of Sir John Suckling; but if you can yet doubt, let any judicious soul seriously consider the freedom of the fancy, richness of the conceit, proper expression, with that air and spirit diffused through every part, and he will find such a perfect resemblance with what hath been formerly known, that he cannot with modesty doubt them to be his.

I could tell you further (for I myself am the best witness of it) what a thirst and general inquiry hath been after what I here present you, by all that have either seen or heard of them. And by that time you have read them, you will believe me, who have, now for many years, annually published the productions of the best wits of our own and foreign nations.

V

[Out upon it! I have loved]

Out upon it! I have loved
Three whole days together;
And am like to love three more,
If it prove fair weather.

Time shall moult away his wings,
Ere he shall discover

In the whole wide world again
Such a constant lover.

Η. Μ.

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Had it any been but she,
And that very face,

There had been at least ere this
A dozen dozen in her place.

Love and debt alike troublesome

This one request I make to him that sits the clouds above,
That I were freely out of debt as I am out of love.

Then for to dance, to drink, and sing, I should be very willing,

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I should not owe one lass a kiss, nor ne'er a knave a shilling.
'Tis only being in love and debt that breaks us of our rest,
And he that is quite out of both, of all the world is blest;
He sees the golden age, wherein all things were free and common;
He eats, he drinks, he takes his rest, he fears no man nor woman.
Though Cræsus compassëd great wealth, yet he still cravëd more,
He was as needy a beggar still as goes from door to door.
Though Ovid were a merry man, love ever kept him sad;
He was as far from happiness as one that is stark mad.
Our merchant he in goods is rich, and full of gold and treasure;
But when he thinks upon his debts, that thought destroys his pleasure.
Our courtier thinks that he's preferred, whom every man envies;
When love so rumbles in his pate, no sleep comes in his eyes.
Our gallant's case is worst of all, he lies so just betwixt them;
For he's in love and he's in debt, and knows not which most vex him.
But he that can eat beef, and feed on bread which is so brown,

May satisfy his appetite, and owe no man a crown;
And he that is content with lasses clothed in plain woolen,
May cool his heat in every place; he need not to be sullen,
Nor sigh for love of lady fair, for this each wise man knows-
As good stuff under flannel lies, as under silken clothes.

Song

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When wanton blasts have Or hast viewed the peacock in his

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Hast thou marked the crocodile's Oh, so fickle, oh, so vain, oh, so

weeping,

ery?

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! J

RICHARD LOVELACE

The Introduction and Notes are at page 1018
FROM Lucasta, 1649

To Althea, from prison

When Love with unconfined
wings

Hovers within my gates,
And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at the grates;
When I lie tangled in her hair,
And fettered to her eye,
The gods that wanton in the air
Know no such liberty.

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If I have freedom in my love,
And in my soul am free,
Angels alone that soar above
Enjoy such liberty.

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The Vintage to the Dungeon

Sing

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us pent souls, sing cheerly! Cakles you in liberty, Mirees you in captivity: Would you double fetters add? Else why so sad?

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Stone walls do not a prison make, Ah, braid no more that shining

Nor iron bars a cage;

hair!

Minds innocent and quiet take

As my curious hand or eye,

That for an hermitage;

Hovering round thee, let it fly.

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