Musa Proterva: Love-poems of the Restoration

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Arthur Henry Bullen
Priv. Print. [C. Whittingham and Company], 1889 - 128 pages
 

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Page 10 - To his Coy Mistress Had we but world enough and time, This coyness, lady, were no crime. We would sit down and think which way To walk and pass our long love's day. Thou by the Indian Ganges' side Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide Of Huraber would complain.
Page 32 - Let wind and weather do its worst, Be you to us but kind, Let Dutchmen vapour, Spaniards curse, No sorrow we shall find : ' Tis then no matter how things go. Or who's our friend or who's our foe.
Page 41 - MY DEAR mistress has a heart Soft as those kind looks she gave me; When with love's resistless art, And her eyes, she did enslave me. But her constancy's so weak, She's so wild and apt to wander, That my jealous heart would break Should we live one day asunder.
Page 20 - AH, how sweet it is to love ! Ah, how gay is young desire ! And what pleasing pains we prove When we first approach love's fire ! Pains of love be sweeter far Than all other pleasures are. Sighs, which are from lovers blown, Do but gently heave the heart : Even the tears they shed alone, Cure, like trickling balm, their smart.
Page 11 - But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near; And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity.
Page 117 - Flavia the least and slightest toy, Can with resistless art employ. This fan in meaner hands would prove An engine of small force in love ; But she with such an air and mien, Not to be told, or safely seen, Directs its wanton motions so, That it wounds more than Cupid's bow : Gives coolness to the matchless dame, To every other breast a flame.
Page 39 - Dorinda's sparkling wit and eyes United cast too fierce a light, Which blazes high, but quickly dies, Pains not the heart, but hurts the sight. Love is a calmer, gentler joy, Smooth are his looks, and soft his pace, Her Cupid is a blackguard boy, That runs his link full in your face.
Page 76 - Tis cruel to prolong a pain ; And to defer a joy, Believe me, gentle Celemene, Offends the winged boy. An hundred thousand oaths your fears Perhaps would not remove; And if I gazed a thousand years, I could no deeper love. Song Hears not my Phyllis how the birds Their feathered mates salute? They tell their passions in their words; Must I alone be mute?
Page 12 - Ametas. THINK'ST thou that this love can stand, Whilst thou still dost say me nay ? Love unpaid does soon disband : Love binds love, as hay binds hay.
Page 13 - Thestylis. Think'st thou that this rope would twine, If we both should turn one way ? Where both parties so combine, Neither love will twist, nor hay. Ametas. Thus you vain excuses find, Which yourself and us delay : And love ties a woman's mind, Looser than with ropes of hay.

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