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Gently touch the warbling lyre,

Chloe seems inclin’d to rest,
Fill her soul with fond desire;

Softest notes will soothe her best.
Pleasing dreams assist in love ;
Let them all propitious prove.

On the mossy bank she lies,

Nature's verdant velvet bed,
Beauteous flowers meet her eyes,

Forming pillows for her head.
Zephyrs waft their odours round,
And indulging whispers sound.


Ask if yon damask rose be sweet,

That scents the ambient air ; Then ask each shepherd that you meet

If dear Susanna's fair,

Say, will the vulture leave his prey,

And warble through the grove ;
Bid wanton linnets quit their spray,

Then doubt thy shepherd's love.

The spoils of war let heroes share,

Let pride in splendor shine ;
Ye bards, unenvied laurels wear,

Be fair Susanna mine.



you taste the noontide air,
To yon fragrant bower repair,
Where woven with the poplar bough,
The mantling vine will shelter you.

Down each side a river flows,
Tinkling, murmuring, as it goes
Lightly o'er the mossy ground,
Sultry Phæbus scorching round.

Round, the languid herds and sheep
Stretch'd o'er sunny hillocks sleep.
While on the hyacinth and rose,
The fair does all alone repose.

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All alone and in her arms
Your breast may beat to love's alarms,
Till bless'd, and blessing you shall own
The joys of love are joys alone.


A how sweet it is to love !

Ah, how gay is young desire !
And what pleasing pains we prove,

When we first approach love's fire;
Pains of love be sweeter far
Than all other pleasures are.

Sighs, which are from lovers blown,

Do but gently beave the heart: Ev’n the tears they shed alone,

Cure, like trickling balm, their smart; Lovers, when they lose their breath, Bleed away in easy death.

Love and time with rev'rence use,

Treat 'em like a parting friend;
Nor the golden gifts refuse,

Which, in youth, sincere they send,
For each year their price is more,
And they less simple than before.

Love, like spring-tides full and high,

Swells in ev'ry youthful vein: But each tide does less supply,

Till they quite shrink in again ; If a flow in age appear, 'Tis but rain, and runs not clear.




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 And to revenge my slighted love,

Will still love on and die.

I'll try :

When, kill'd with grief, Amyntas lies;

And you to mind shall ca!!, 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.

[Sir John SUCKLING.]



my heart,
Since I cannot have thine :
For if from yours you will not part,

Why then should you have mine?

Yet, now I think on't, let it lie,

To find it were in vain :
For you've a thief in ev'ry eye,

Would steal it back again.


Why should two hearts in one breast lic,

And yet not lodge together?
Oh Love ! where is thy sympathy,

If thus our breasts thou sever ?

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