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LOVE not me for comely grace,
For my pleasing eye or face,
Nor for any outward part,
No, nor for my constant heart,-
For those may fail, or turn to ill,

So thou and I shall sever :
Keep therefore a true woman's eye,
And love me still, but know not why-
So hast thou the same reason still
To doat upon me ever!


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Nor, Celia, that I juster am

Or better than the rest ;
For I would change each hour, like them,

Were not my heart at rest.

But I am tied to very thee

By every thought I have ;
Thy face I only care to see,

Thy heart I only crave.

All that in woman is adored

In thy dear self I find-
For the whole sex can but afford

The handsome and the kind.

Why then should I seek further store,

And still make love anew ?
When change itself can give no more,
'Tis easy to be true.

Sir C. Sedley.




WHEN Love with unconfinéd wings

Hovers within my gates,
And my divine Althea brings

To whisper at the grates ;
When I lie tangled in her hair

And fetter'd to her eye,
The Gods that wanton in the air

Know no such liberty.


When flowing cups run swiftly round

With no allaying Thames,
Our careless heads with roses crown'd,

Our hearts with loyal flames ;
When thirsty grief in wine we steep,

When healths and draughts go free-
Fishes that tipple in the deep

Know no such liberty.

When like committed linnets, I

With shriller throat shall sing
The sweetness, mercy, majesty

And glories of my King ;
When I shall voice aloud how good

He is, how great should be,
Enlarged winds, that curl the flood,

Know no such liberty.

Stone walls do not a prison make,

Nor iron bars a cage ;
Minds innocent and quiet take

That for an hermitage :
If I have freedom in my love

And in my soul am free,
Angels alone, that soar above,
Enjoy such liberty.

Colonel Lovelace.



IF to be absent were to be

Away from thee;
Or that when I am gone

You or I were alone ;

Then, my Lucasta, might I crave
Pity from blustering wind, or swallowing wave.

But I'll not sigh one blast or gale

To swell my sail,
Or pay a tear to 'suage

The foaming blue-god's rage ;
For whether he will let me pass
Or no, I'm still as happy as I was.



Though seas and land betwixt us both,

Our faith and troth,
Like separated souls,

All time and space controls :

Above the highest sphere we meet
Unseen, unknown, and greet as Angels greet.

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So then we do anticipate

Our after-fate,
And are alive i’ the skies,

If thus our lips and eyes
Can speak like spirits unconfined
In Heaven, their earthy bodies left behind.

Colonel Lovelace.

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Why so pale and wan, fond lover ?

Prythee, why so pale ?
Will, if looking well can't move her,

Looking ill prevail ?
Prythee, why so pale ?

Why so dull and mute, young sinner?

Prythee, why so mute ?
Will, when speaking well can't win her,

Saying nothing do't ?
Prythee, why so mute?

Quit, quit, for shame! this will not move,

This cannot take her ;
If of herself she will not love,

Nothing can make her :
The D-1 take her !

Sir J. Suckling.

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AWAKE, awake, my Lyre !
And tell thy silent master's humble tale

In sounds that may prevail ;
Sounds that gentle thoughts inspire :

Though so exalted she

And I so lowly be
Tell her, such different notes make all thy harmony.

Hark! how the strings awake :
And, though the moving hand approach not near,

Themselves with awful fear
A kind of numerous trembling make.
Now all thy forces try;

Now all thy charms apply ;
Revenge upon her ear the conquests of her eye.

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Weak Lyre! thy virtue sure
Is useless here, since thou art only found

To cure, but not to wound,
And she to wound, but not to cure.

Too weak too wilt thou prove

My passion to remove ;
Physic to other ills, thou’rt nourishment to Love.


Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre !
For thou canst never tell my humble tale

In sounds that will prevail,
Nor gentle thoughts in her inspire ;

25 All thy vain mirth lay by,

Bid thy strings silent lie,
Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre, and let thy master die.

A. Cowley.

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