The Works of the Late Aaron Hill ... In Four Volumes. Consisting of Letters on Various Subjects, And of Original Poems, Moral and Facetious. With An Essay on the Art of Acting |
To a Lady, on calling me Jealous.
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The Works of the Late Aaron Hill | ||
To a Lady, on calling me Jealous.
I
He, whose whole treasure one dear vessel bears,Thro' seas, on which destructive pirates swarm.
Must be excus'd a thousand fears and cares,
And bend his soul to ev'ry strong alarm.
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II
Ill do they love, and feel thee, at their heart,Who seem unmov'd, while others hope thee theirs;
My kindling bosom burns, with open smart,
For my proud soul her unveil'd meaning wears.
III
Nice, as thy own, and all refin'd, as thine,My tow'ring passion climbs, with gen'rous flame;
But, shrinking from neglect, in sad decline,
Burns downward, and forgoes a frustrate aim.
IV
Tender, as infant sighs, in slumb'ring ease,My soft'ning soul admits, and owns thy sway:
'Tis my life's sweetest care, thy taste to please,
And, in thy sunshine, melt my griefs away.
V
Woes are too weak, to wound me, thro' thy smiles,The pole's fix'd frost were warm, as heav'n, to me;
I tread down malice, thro' her mazy wiles,
And triumph over all things, charming thee.
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VI
What task so dang'rous, or, what toil so vast,Would not thy love inspire me to defy!
Soul'd, with immortal fire, my flame must last;
And I should conquer worlds, beneath thy eye.
VII
Oh! that my struggling thoughts, which heave, within,Cou'd borrow but a voice, and speak my soul;
Then, would this heart thy grateful passions win,
'Till—oh! vast empire! I should claim the whole.
VIII
Yet, as it is, indulge my trembling fear,And give thy lover's counsel leave to speak:
Fools are all false, nor, long can hold thee dear,
For soon they find, whate'er they know to seek.
IX
Boastful, ungenerous, vain, and grossly mean;On all thy charms, they only feed their sense;
Thou art, by them, but as meer woman seen,
Blind to thy heav'n, of inward excellence.
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X
Sudden, the wretches' smoaky flames expire;Such earthy fuel must, of course, decay;
But I, while adoration lifts desire,
Light up a love, that ne'er can burn away.
The Works of the Late Aaron Hill | ||