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SONG
Come, Celia, let's agree at last To love and live in quiet; Let's tie the knot so very fast That time shall ne'er untie it.
Love's dearest joys they never prove, Who free from quarrels live; 'Tis sure a G.o.d like part of love Each other to forgive.
When least I seemed concerned I took No pleasure, nor had rest; And when I feigned an angry look, Alas! I loved you best.
Say but the same to me, you'll find How blest will be our fate; Sure to be grateful, to be kind, Can never be too late.
John Sheffield [1648-1721]
THE ENCHANTMENT
I did but look and love awhile, 'Twas but for one half-hour; Then to resist I had no will, And now I have no power.
To sigh and wish is all my ease; Sighs which do heat impart Enough to melt the coldest ice, Yet cannot warm your heart.
O would your pity give my heart One corner of your breast, 'Twould learn of yours the winning art, And quickly steal the rest.
Thomas Otway [1652-1685]
SONG
Only tell her that I love: Leave the rest to her and Fate: Some kind planet from above May perhaps her pity move: Lovers on their stars must wait.-- Only tell her that I love!
Why, O why should I despair!
Mercy's pictured in her eye: If she once vouchsafe to hear, Welcome Hope and farewell Fear!
She's too good to let me die.-- Why, O why should I despair?
John Cutts [1661-1707]
"FALSE THOUGH SHE BE"
False though she be to me and love, I'll ne'er pursue revenge; For still the charmer I approve, Though I deplore her change.
In hours of bliss we oft have met: They could not always last; And though the present I regret, I'm grateful for the past.
William Congreve [1670-1729]
TO SILVIA From "The Cautious Lovers"
Silvia, let us from the crowd retire, For what to you and me (Who but each other do desire) Is all that here we see?
Apart we'll live, though not alone; For who alone can call Those who in deserts live with one If in that one they've all?
The world a vast meander is, Where hearts confusedly stray; Where few do hit, whilst thousands miss, The happy mutual way.
Anne Finch [?--1720]
"WHY, LOVELY CHARMER"
Why, lovely charmer, tell me why, So very kind, and yet so shy?
Why does that cold, forbidding air Give damps of sorrow and despair?
Or why that smile my soul subdue, And kindle up my flames anew?
In vain you strive with all your art, By turns to fire and freeze my heart; When I behold a face so fair, So sweet a look, so soft an air, My ravished soul is charmed all o'er, I cannot love thee less or more.
Unknown
AGAINST INDIFFERENCE
More love or more disdain I crave; Sweet, be not still indifferent: O send me quickly to my grave, Or else afford me more content!
Or love or hate me more or less, For love abhors all lukewarmness.
Give me a tempest if 'twill drive Me to the place where I would be; Or if you'll have me still alive, Confess you will be kind to me.
Give hopes of bliss or dig my grave: More love or more disdain I crave.
Charles Webbe [c. 1678]
A SONG TO AMORET
If I were dead, and, in my place, Some fresher youth designed To warm thee, with new fires; and grace Those arms I left behind:
Were he as faithful as the Sun, That's wedded to the Sphere; His blood as chaste and temperate run, As April's mildest tear;
Or were he rich; and, with his heap And s.p.a.cious share of earth, Could make divine affection cheap, And court his golden birth;
