What shall I do to prove how much I love her? I will bring down the stars from heav'n above her Dryden. In love, the heavens themselves do guide the state; Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate. Shakespeare (Merry Wives of Windsor). December 29. Melting joys about her move, Killing pleasures, wounding blisses, Earl of Rochester, 1647. By yon blest heaven, my heart runs December 30. As the spur is for the jade, Otway. Motteaux, 1660. If she love me, this believe, G. Wither. Here's to the wives we can trust May they live in our song and be nearest our hearts, Suffer not trifles to win thy love, Scotch Song. Tupper. Then be not coy, but use your time, ROBERT HERRICK. |