Poems Lyrique Macaronique Heroique &c. By Henry Bold |
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To the Lady, F. C.
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Poems Lyrique Macaronique Heroique | ||
To the Lady, F. C.
Fair
Beauteous-Eys! why do you longer give
My hopes that life, to tell me that I live;
Since if (Dear Fair! You with a smiling eye,
Do throw a Dart, thousands would gladly dye.
So wisht a Death, and in the pleasing fire,
Of those blest flames, give up their Souls t'Expire.
My hopes that life, to tell me that I live;
Since if (Dear Fair! You with a smiling eye,
Do throw a Dart, thousands would gladly dye.
So wisht a Death, and in the pleasing fire,
Of those blest flames, give up their Souls t'Expire.
But when a frown shall cloud those shining Eyes,
Which yet consume their Martyr'd Sacrifice,
And check a lively-hope with dead despair,
Making a careful life, a lively Care.
When this effect your mystick Beauties prove,
To make Love Conquer, and yet conquer love.
Which yet consume their Martyr'd Sacrifice,
And check a lively-hope with dead despair,
Making a careful life, a lively Care.
233
To make Love Conquer, and yet conquer love.
Eyes! tell me not I live, since you bequeath
At best, a dying-life, or living death.
Sweet lips forbear! no more a treacherous kiss
Shall never tempt my credulous heat to wish.
Those sugred baits, betraying Souls to smart,
With flattering smiles, to slay a lovers heart.
Though this you thought, too mild a death would prove,
To kill a Servant, with a Dart of Love.
And found a nearer way to Antedate,
My latter day, with a disdainful Fate;
Causing those lips which made me for to know,
You lov'd me once, now to procure my woe.
And to be once depos'd from love, is more
A death to lovers, then was life before;
Lips say not then I live, since that your breath,
Can speak my doom, or kisses melt to Death.
At best, a dying-life, or living death.
Sweet lips forbear! no more a treacherous kiss
Shall never tempt my credulous heat to wish.
Those sugred baits, betraying Souls to smart,
With flattering smiles, to slay a lovers heart.
Though this you thought, too mild a death would prove,
To kill a Servant, with a Dart of Love.
And found a nearer way to Antedate,
My latter day, with a disdainful Fate;
Causing those lips which made me for to know,
You lov'd me once, now to procure my woe.
And to be once depos'd from love, is more
A death to lovers, then was life before;
Lips say not then I live, since that your breath,
Can speak my doom, or kisses melt to Death.
Poems Lyrique Macaronique Heroique | ||