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The last remains of Sr John Suckling

Being a Full collection Of all his Poems and Letters which have been so long expected, and never till now Published, with The Licence and Approbation of his Noble and Dearest friends

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4

The careless Lover.

Never believe me if I love,
Or know what 'tis or mean to prove;
And yet in faith I lye, I do,
And she's extremely handsom too:
She's fair, she's wondrous fair,
But I care not who knows it,
Ere I'le die for love, I'le fairly forgo it.
This heat of hope, or cold of fear,
My foolish heart could never bear:
One sigh imprison'd ruines more
Then earthquakes have done heretofore:
She's fair, &c.
When I am hungry I do eat,
And cut no fingers 'stead of meat;
Nor with much gazing on her face
Do ere rise hungry from the place:
She's fair, &c.
A gentle round fill'd to the brink
To this and t'other Friend I drink;
And when tis nam'd anothers health,
I never make it hers by stealth:
She's fair, &c.
Black-Friars to me, and old Whitehall,
Is even as much as is the fall
Of fountains on a pathless grove,
And nourishes as much my love:
She's fair, &c.

5

I visit, talk, do business, play,
And for a need laugh out a day:
Who does not thus in Cupids school,
He makes not Love, but plays the Fool:
She's fair, &c.