The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] ... With a Copious Index. To which is prefixed Some Account of his Life. In Four Volumes |
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TO CHLOE. |
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 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
TO CHLOE.
Chloe, I live, and live for thee alone;
Trust me, there's nought worth living for, beside:
Nought for thine absence, Cloe, can atone,
Though Phœbus shines, and Nature pours her pride.
Trust me, there's nought worth living for, beside:
Nought for thine absence, Cloe, can atone,
Though Phœbus shines, and Nature pours her pride.
Lo, full of innocence the lambkins bleat;
The brooks in sweetest murmurs purl along;
The lark's, the linnet's voices too, are sweet—
But what are these to Chloe's tuneful tongue?
The brooks in sweetest murmurs purl along;
The lark's, the linnet's voices too, are sweet—
But what are these to Chloe's tuneful tongue?
With ev'ry balm, the breath of Zephyr blows;
But thine can yield a thousand times more blisses:
I own the fragrance of the blushing rose,
But, ah! how faint to balm of Chloe's kisses!
But thine can yield a thousand times more blisses:
I own the fragrance of the blushing rose,
But, ah! how faint to balm of Chloe's kisses!
Ye gods! I mark thy frown, and scornful eye,
And now thy bridling chin of scorn I see;
And now I hear thee, so contemptuous, cry,
‘What are my kisses, saucy swain, to thee?’
And now thy bridling chin of scorn I see;
And now I hear thee, so contemptuous, cry,
‘What are my kisses, saucy swain, to thee?’
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True, dearest Chloe—yet each kiss divine,
Which dwelleth on thy lips so very teasing,
Would quickly change its nature were it mine,
And rapt'rous prove—superlatively pleasing!
Which dwelleth on thy lips so very teasing,
Would quickly change its nature were it mine,
And rapt'rous prove—superlatively pleasing!
Love is a generous god, and 'tis his pleasure
To see the gold he gives, in circulation—
Then cease to hoard such quantities of treasure,
And be afraid to put him in a passion.
To see the gold he gives, in circulation—
Then cease to hoard such quantities of treasure,
And be afraid to put him in a passion.
Thy beauties should the angry god divide,
And throw amongst thy sex, 'twould be alarming;
And not a little mortify thy pride,
To meet, dear Chloe, ev'ry woman charming.
And throw amongst thy sex, 'twould be alarming;
And not a little mortify thy pride,
To meet, dear Chloe, ev'ry woman charming.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |