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That happy thing, a lover, grown

I shall not see with others' eyes-scarce with

mine own.

*

But do not touch my heart, and so be gone:
Strike deep thy burning arrows in:
Lukewarmness I account a sin

As great in love as in religion.

Come arm'd with flames, for I would prove
All the extremities of mighty love!

NOT FAIR.

'Tis very true; I thought you once as fair

As women in th' idea are:

Whatever here seems beauteous, seem'd to be

But a faint metaphor of thee.

But then, methought, there something shin'd within Which cast this lustre o'er thy skin.

But since I knew thy falsehood, and thy pride,

And all thy thousand faults beside;

A very Moor, methinks, plac'd near to thee,
White as his teeth would seem to be;

Nay, when the world but knows how false you are, There's not a man will think you fair.

[From "the Change."]

LOVE in her sunny eyes does basking play,
Love walks the pleasant mazes of her hair,
Love does on both her lips for ever stray,

And sows and reaps a thousand kisses there: In all her outward parts love's always seen;— But, oh! he never went within.

[From "the Soul."]

IF mine eyes do e'er declare

They've seen a second thing that's fair,
Or ears, that they have music found
Besides thy voice in any sound;
If my taste do ever meet

After thy kiss with aught that's sweet;

If my abused touch allow

Aught to be smooth or soft but you;
If what seasonable springs,

Or the eastern summer brings,

Do my smell persuade at all

Aught perfume but thy breath to call;

May I as worthless seem to thee,
As all but thou appear to me.

If I ever anger know,

Till some wrong be done to you ;

If ever I an hope admit,

Without thy image stamp'd on it;

Or any fear, till I begin

To find that you're concern'd therein;

If a joy e'er come to me,

That tastes of any thing but thee;
If any sorrow touch my mind'

Whilst you are well and not unkind;
If I a minute's space debate,
Whether I shall curse and hate'

The things beneath thy hatred fall, Though all the world, myself and all;

VOL. III.

If any passion of my heart,

By any force or any art,

Be brought to move one step from thee,
May'st thou no passion. have for me.

[From "the Wish."]

WELL, then; I now do plainly see
This busy world and I shall ne'er agree.
The very honey of all earthly joy
Does of all meats the soonest cloy;

And they, methinks, deserve my pity,

Who for it can endure the stings,

The crowd, and buz, and murmurings,
Of this great hive, the city.

Ah! yet, ere I descend to th' grave,

May I a small house and large garden have;

And a few friends, and many books, both true,

Both wise, and both delightful too!

And (since love ne'er will from me flee),

A mistress, moderately fair,

And good, as guardian-angels are;

- Only belov'd, and loving me!

How happy here should I,

And one dear she, live, and embracing die? She who is all the world, and can exclude In desarts solitude.

[From "the Inconstant."]

I NEVER yet could see that face,
Which had no dart for me;
From fifteen years to fifty's space
They all victorious be.

Colour or shape, good limbs, or face,
Goodness, or wit, in all I find;

In motion or in speech a grace,
If all fail, yet 'tis womankind.

If tall, the name of proper slays;

If fair, she's pleasant as the light;
If low, her prettiness does please;
If black, what lover loves not night?

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