The Works of John Sheffield Earl of Mulgrave, Marquis of Normanby, and Duke of Buckingham. In two volumes ... The third edition, Corrected |
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 | The Works of John Sheffield |  |
66
The SURPRIZE.
Safely perhaps dull Crowds admire;
But I, alas! am all on Fire.
But I, alas! am all on Fire.
Like him who thought in Childhood past
That dire Disease which kill'd at last,
I durst have sworn I lov'd before,
And fancy'd all the Danger o'er;
Had felt the Pangs of jealous Pain,
And born the Blasts of cold Disdain;
Then reap'd at length the mighty Gains,
That full Reward of all our Pains!
That dire Disease which kill'd at last,
I durst have sworn I lov'd before,
And fancy'd all the Danger o'er;
Had felt the Pangs of jealous Pain,
And born the Blasts of cold Disdain;
Then reap'd at length the mighty Gains,
That full Reward of all our Pains!
But what was all such Grief or Joy,
That did my heedless Years employ?
Mere Dreams of feign'd fantastick Pow'rs,
But the Disease of idle Hours;
Amusement, Humour, Affectation,
Compar'd with this sublimer Passion,
Whose Raptures, bright as those above,
Outshine the Flames of Zeal or Love.
That did my heedless Years employ?
Mere Dreams of feign'd fantastick Pow'rs,
But the Disease of idle Hours;
67
Compar'd with this sublimer Passion,
Whose Raptures, bright as those above,
Outshine the Flames of Zeal or Love.
Yet think not, Fairest, what I sing,
Can from a Love Platonick spring;
That formal Softness (false and vain)
Not of the Heart, but of the Brain.
Thou art indeed above all Nature;
But I, a wretched human Creature,
Wanting thy gentle gen'rous Aid,
Of Husband, Rivals, Friends afraid!
Amidst all this Seraphick Fire,
Am almost dying with Desire,
With eager Wishes, ardent Thoughts,
Prone to commit Love's wildest Faults!
And (as we are on Sundays told
The lusty Patriarch did of old)
Would force a Blessing from those Charms,
And grasp an Angel in my Arms.
Can from a Love Platonick spring;
That formal Softness (false and vain)
Not of the Heart, but of the Brain.
Thou art indeed above all Nature;
But I, a wretched human Creature,
Wanting thy gentle gen'rous Aid,
Of Husband, Rivals, Friends afraid!
Amidst all this Seraphick Fire,
Am almost dying with Desire,
With eager Wishes, ardent Thoughts,
Prone to commit Love's wildest Faults!
And (as we are on Sundays told
The lusty Patriarch did of old)
Would force a Blessing from those Charms,
And grasp an Angel in my Arms.
| The Works of John Sheffield | |