THOMAS STANLEY,

Born about 1625, died 1678.

THE ENRAPTURED LOVER.

WHEN I lie burning in thine eye,
Or freezing in thy breast,

What martyrs in wished flames that die,
Are half so pleased or blest?

When thy soft accents through mine ear

Into my soul do fly,

What angel would not quit his sphere

To hear such harmony?

Or when the kiss thou gav'st me last,
My soul stole in its breath,
What life would sooner be embraced,
Than so desired a death?

Then think no freedom I desire,
Or would my fetters leave;
Since, Phoenix-like, I from this fire
Both life and youth receive.

SPEAKING AND KISSING.

THE air which thy smooth voice doth break,
Into my soul like lightning flies;

My life retires whilst thou dost speak,
And thy soft breath its room supplies.

Lost in this pleasing extacy,

I join my trembling lips to thine,
And back receive that life from thee
Which I so gladly did resign.

Forbear, Platonic fools, t' inquire
What numbers do the soul compose;

No harmony can life inspire,

But that which from these accents flows.

THE RESOLVE.

I PRAY thee let my heart alone,
Since now 'tis raised above thee;
Not all the beauty thou didst own,
Again can make me love thee.

He that was ship-wrecked once before
By such a syren's call,

And yet neglects to shun that shore,
Deserves his second fall.

Each flutt'ring kiss, each tempting smile

Which thou in vain bestows, Some other lover might beguile,

Who not thy falsehood knows.

But I am proof against all art;
No vows shall e'er persuade me
Twice to present a wounded heart
To her that hath betrayed me.

Could I again be brought to love
Thy form, though more divine,
I might thy scorn as justly move,
As now thou sufferest mine.

THE RELAPSE.

Он, turn away those cruel eyes,
The stars of my undoing!

Or death in such a bright disguise,
May tempt a second wooing.

Punish their blindly impious pride
Who dare contemn thy glory :

It was my fall that deified

Thy name, and sealed thy story,

Yet no new sufferings can prepare

A higher praise to crown thee; Though my first death proclaim thee fair, My second will unthrone thee.

Lovers will doubt thou canst entice
No other for thy fuel;

And, if thou burn one victim twice,
Both think thee poor and cruel.

JOHN DRYDEN,

Born 1631, died 1701.

SONG.

FAIR, Sweet, and young, receive a prize
Reserved for your victorious eyes:
From crowds, whom at your feet you see,
O pity and distinguish me!

As I, from thousand beauties more,
Distinguish you, and only you adore.

Your face for conquest was design'd; Your every motion charms my mind; Angels, when you your silence break, Forget their hymns to hear you speak; But when, at once, they hear and view, Are loth to mount, and long to stay with you

No graces can your form improve,
But all are lost unless you love;

While that sweet passion you disdain,
Your veil and beauty are in vain :

In pity then prevent my fate,
For after dying all reprieve's too late.

TO A FAIR YOUNG LADY GOING OUT OF THE
TOWN IN THE SPRING.

ASK not the cause why sullen Spring
So long delays her flowers to bear;
Why warbling birds forget to sing,

And winter-storms invert the year:
Chloris is gone, and Fate provides
To make it spring where she resides.

Chloris is gone, the cruel fair!

She cast not back a pitying eye;
But left her lover in despair,

To sigh, to languish, and to die :
Ah, how can those fair eyes endure
To give the wounds they will not cure!

Great God of Love! why hast thou made

A face that can all hearts command,
That all religions can invade,

And change the laws of every land?
Where thou hadst placed such power before,
Thou shouldst have made her mercy more.