The poetical and dramatic works of Sir Charles Sedley Collected and Edited from the Old Editions: With a preface on the text, explanatory and textual notes, an appendix containing works of doubtful authenticity, and a bibliography: By V. de Sola Pinto |
 | I. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. | XXVIII THE FEIGNED LOVE |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
| XLIII. |
| XLIV. |
| XLV. |
| XLVI. |
| XLVII. |
| XLVIII. |
| XLIX. |
| L. |
| LI. |
| LII. |
| LIII. |
| LIV. |
| LV. |
| LVI. |
| LVII. |
| LVIII. |
|
| LIX. |
| LX. |
| LXI. |
| LXII. |
| LXIII. |
| LXIV. |
| LXV. |
| LXVI. |
| LXVII. |
| LXVIII. |
| LXIX. |
| LXX. |
| LXXI. |
| LXXII. |
| LXXIII. |
| LXXIV. |
| LXXV. |
| LXXVI. |
| LXXVII. |
| LXXVIII. |
| LXXIX. |
| LXXX. |
| LXXXI. |
| LXXXII. |
| LXXXIII. |
| LXXXIV. |
| LXXXV. |
| LXXXVI. |
| LXXXVII. |
| LXXXVIII. |
| LXXXIX. |
| XC. |
|
| XCI. |
| XCII. |
| XCIII. |
| II. |
|
| XCIV. |
| XCV. |
|
| XCVI. |
|
| XCVII. |
| XCVIII. |
| XCIX. |
| C. |
| CI. |
|
| CII. |
| CIII. |
| CIV. |
| CV. |
|
| CVI. |
|
| CVII. |
|
| CVIII. |
| CIX. |
| CX. |
|
| CXI. |
| CXII. |
| CXIII. |
|
| CXIV. |
| CXV. |
| CXVI. |
| CXVII. |
| CXVIII. |
| CXIX. |
| CXX. |
| CXXI. |
| CXXII. |
| CXXIII. |
| CXXIV. |
| CXXV. |
| CXXVI. |
| CXXVII. |
| CXXVIII. |
| CXXIX. |
| CXXX. |
| CXXXI. |
| CXXXII. |
| CXXXIII. |
| CXXXIV. |
| CXXXV. |
| CXXXVI. |
 | The poetical and dramatic works of Sir Charles Sedley |  |
XXVIII
THE FEIGNED LOVE
Cloris, tho' meaner Beauties might
Perhaps have need of some such Slight,
You may those petty Arts despise,
Secure of what is once your Prize;
Ill us'd and scorn'd, we must adore,
And question not resistless Power:
In Rome, no Man was known to fly,
Whom the Emperor condemn'd to dye,
The fatal Stroke themselves wou'd give,
Rather than banisht from her live.
So to your Empire harsh or kind,
I stand by my own choice confind.
I daily saw how others far'd,
Whom the false Hope you gave ensnar'd;
Like foolish Boys at Birds, that catch,
Sometimes we thought you in our reach;
And then again, you'd mount and fly
Beyond the compass of our Eye;
Till weary'd with the vain Pursuit,
Like Birds that peck at painted Fruit,
The wiser sort their Hopes disclaim,
And beat the Wood for easier Game.
| The poetical and dramatic works of Sir Charles Sedley | |