The Poetical Works of The Rev. Samuel Bishop ... To Which are Prefixed, Memoirs of the Life of the Author By the Rev. Thomas Clare |
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TO MRS. BISHOP,
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 | The Poetical Works of The Rev. Samuel Bishop |  |
16
TO MRS. BISHOP,
WITH A PRESENT OF A KNIFE.
“A Knife,” dear Girl, “cuts Love,” they say!
Mere modish Love, perhaps it may—
—For any tool, of any kind,
Can separate—what was never join'd.
Mere modish Love, perhaps it may—
—For any tool, of any kind,
Can separate—what was never join'd.
The Knife, that cuts our Love in two,
Will have much tougher work to do;
Must cut your Softness, Truth, and Spirit,
Down to the vulgar size of Merit;
To level yours, with modern Taste,
Must cut a world of Sense to waste;
And from your single Beauty's store,
Clip, what would dizen out a score.
Will have much tougher work to do;
Must cut your Softness, Truth, and Spirit,
Down to the vulgar size of Merit;
To level yours, with modern Taste,
Must cut a world of Sense to waste;
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Clip, what would dizen out a score.
That self-same blade from me must sever
Sensation, Judgment, Sight, for ever:
All Memory of Endearments past,
All Hope of Comforts long to last;—
All that makes fourteen Years with you,
A Summer;—and a short one too;—
All, that Affection feels and fears,
When hours without you seem like years.
Sensation, Judgment, Sight, for ever:
All Memory of Endearments past,
All Hope of Comforts long to last;—
All that makes fourteen Years with you,
A Summer;—and a short one too;—
All, that Affection feels and fears,
When hours without you seem like years.
Till that be done, (and I'd as soon
Believe this Knife will chip the Moon,)
Accept my Present, undeterr'd,
And leave their Proverbs to the Herd.
Believe this Knife will chip the Moon,)
Accept my Present, undeterr'd,
And leave their Proverbs to the Herd.
If in a kiss—delicious treat!—
Your lips acknowledge the receipt,
Love, fond of such substantial fare,
And proud to play the glutton there,
All thoughts of cutting will disdain,
Save only—“cut and come again!”
Your lips acknowledge the receipt,
18
And proud to play the glutton there,
All thoughts of cutting will disdain,
Save only—“cut and come again!”
| The Poetical Works of The Rev. Samuel Bishop | |