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The trembling strings about her fingers crowd,
OF THE MARRIAGE OF THE DWARFS. DE
ESIGN or Chance makes others wive,
But Nature did this match contrive:
Thrice happy is that humble pair,
To him the fairest nymphs do show
Ah, Chloris ! that kind Nature thus
SONG. PHILLIS, let's shun the common fate,
And let our love ne'er turn to hate. I'll doat no longer than I can Without being call'd a faithless man; When we begin to want discourse, And kindness seems to taste of force, As freely as we met we'll part; Each one possess'd of his own heart. Thus while rash fools themselves undo, We'll game, and leave off savers too. So equally the match we'll make, Each shall be glad to draw the stake: A smile of thine shall make my bliss, Or I'll enjoy thee in a kiss : If from this height our kindness fall, We'll bravely scorn to love at all: If thy affection first decay, I will the blame on nature lay. Alas! what cordial can remove The hasty fate of dying love? Thus we will all the world excel, "In loving and in parting well.
Or better than the rest;
Were not my heart at rest. But I am ty'd to very thee
By ev'ry thought I have: Thy face I only care to see, Thy heart I only crave.
All that in woman is ador'd,
In thy dear self I find;
The handsome and the kind.
And still make love anew? When change itself can give no more,
'Tis easy to be true.
If you love me don't pursue me;
Their feather'd mates salute?
Must I alone be mute ?
Doth like a tyrant reign;
Without his dart or flame.
And yet in raging love;
My passion should approve.
And not one look obtain;
Might pleasingly explain ?
TO CHLORIS. LORD! how you take upon you still !
How you crow and domineer! How still expect to have your will, And carry the dominion clear,
As you were still the same that once you were ! Fie, Chloris, 'tis a gross mistake,
Correct your errors, and be wise;
But yet have learn'd, though love I prize,
And I had youth t excuse it;
I then myself your vassal sware,
And could be still so (which is rare), But on condition that you not abuse it. 'Tis beauty that to woman-kind
Gives all the rule and sway; Which once declining, or declid'd,
Men afterwards unwillingly obey. Yet still you have enough, and more than needs,
To rule a more rebellious heart than mine; For as your eyes still shoot, my heart still bleeds,
And I must be a subject still :
Nor is it much against my will,
And I must still adore ;
You in your very ruins shall have more