Constancy

Melting joys about her move,

Killing pleasures, wounding blisses; She can dress her eyes in love,

And her lips can arm with kisses. Angels listen when she speaks;

She's my delight, all mankind's wonder; But my jealous heart would break

Should we live one day asunder.

61 I

CONSTANCY

I CANNOT change as others do,

Though you unjustly scorn;

Since that poor swain that sighs for you

For you alone was born.

No, Phillis, no; your heart to move.........? {

A surer way I'll try; for,

And, to revenge my slighted love, 3 Will still love on and die.

+

When killed with grief Amyntas lies,

And you to mind shall call The sighs that now unpitied rise,

The tears that vainly fall-

That welcome hour, that ends this smart,

Will then begin your pain;

For such a faithful tender heart

Can never break in vain.

SONG

John Wilmot [1647-1680]

Too late, alas! I must confess,

You need not arts to move me; Such charms by nature you possess, 'Twere madness not to love ye.

Then spare a heart you may surprise,
And give my tongue the glory
To boast, though my unfaithful eyes
Betray a tender story.

SONG

John Wilmot [1647-1680]

COME, Celia, let's agree at last

To love and live in quiet;
Let's tie the knot so very fast

That time shall ne'er untie it.
Love's dearest joys they never prove,
Who free from quarrels live;
"Tis sure a godlike part of love
Each other to forgive.

When least I seemed concerned I took

No pleasure, nor had rest;

And when I feigned an angry look,

Alas! I loved you best.

Say but the same to me, you'll find

How blest will be our fate;

Sure to be grateful, to be kind,

Can never be too late..

John Sheffield [1648-1721)

"Twould learn of yours the winning art,

And quickly steal the rest.

Thomas Otway [1652-1685]

SONG

ONLY tell her that I love:

Leave the rest to her and Fate:

Some kind planet from above

May perhaps her pity move:

Lovers on their stars must wait.

Only tell her that I love!

Why, O why should I despair!

Mercy's pictured in her eye:
If she once vouchsafe to hear,
Welcome Hope and farewell Fear!
She's too good to let me die.-
Why, O why should I despair?

John Cutts [1661-1707]

"FALSE THOUGH SHE BE"

FALSE though she be to me and love,

I'll ne'er pursue revenge;
For still the charmer I approve,

Though I deplore her change.

In hours of bliss we oft have met:
They could not always last;
And though the present I regret,
I'm grateful for the past.

William Congreve [1670-1729]

TO SILVIA

From "The Cautious Lovers,"

SILVIA, let us from the crowd retire,

For what to you and me (Who but each other do desire) Is all that here we see?

Apart we'll live, though not alone;
For who alone can call

Those who in deserts live with one
If in that one they've all?

The world a vast meander is,

Where hearts confusedly stray;

Where few do hit, whilst thousands miss,

The happy mutual way.

Anne Finch? -1720]

"WHY, LOVELY CHARMER”
WHY, lovely charmer, tell me why,
So very kind, and yet so shy?
Why does that cold, forbidding air
Give damps of sorrow and despair?
Or why that smile my soul subdue,
And kindle up my flames anew?

In vain you strive with all your art,
By turns to fire and freeze my heart;
When I behold a face so fair,

So sweet a look, so soft an air,
My ravished soul is charmed all o'er,
I cannot love thee less or more.

Unknown

A Song To Amoret

615

AGAINST INDIFFERENCE

MORE love or more disdain I crave;
Sweet, be not still indifferent:

O send me quickly to my grave,

Or else afford me more content! Or love or hate me more or less, For love abhors all lukewarmness.

1

Give me a tempest if 'twill drive
Me to the place where I would be;
Or if you'll have me still alive,
Confess you will be kind to me.
Give hopes of bliss or dig my grave:
More love or more disdain I crave.

Charles Webbe [c. 1678]

A SONG TO AMORET

IF I were dead, and, in my place,
Some fresher youth designed

To warm thee, with new fires; and grace
Those arms I left behind:

Were he as faithful as the Sun,

That's wedded to the Sphere;

His blood as chaste and temperate run,
As April's mildest tear;

Or were he rich; and, with his heap
And spacious share of earth,
Could make divine affection cheap,
And court his golden birth;

(No! though he should be thine!),

The mighty Amorist could give

So rich a heart as mine!