Yet, rash astrologer, refrain ; SIR WALTER SCOTT. CXXXII MEDIOCRITY IN LOVE REJECTED GIVE me more love, or more disdain. The temperate affords me none. Give me a storm; if it be love, Disdain, that torrent will devour THOMAS CAREW. CXXXIII ON A GIRDLE THAT which her slender waist confined It was my heaven's extremest sphere, A narrow compass! and yet there EDMUND Waller. CXXXIV TO CELIA DRINK to me only with thine eyes, And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I sent thee late a rosy wreath, It could not withered be. But thou thereon didst only breathe, And sent'st it back to me : Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, Not of itself, but thee. M BEN JONSON. CXXXV My love she's but a lassie yet, To sit an' woo Down by the stream sae glassy yet. O' joys to be, When fa's the modest gloaming yet. She's neither proud nor saucy yet; Bonny blinking, Hilty-skilty lassie yet. But O her artless smile's mair sweet An' right or wrang, Ere it be lang, I'll bring her to a parley yet. I'm jealous o' what blesses her, The very breeze that kisses her, On which she treads, Though wae for ane that misses her. Then O to meet my lassie yet, Up in yon glen sae grassy yet; For all I see Are nought to me Save her that's but a lassie yet ! JAMES HOGG. CXXXVI ACCEPT, my love, as true a heart 'Tis free, it vows, from any art, Then take it kindly, as 'twas meant, And let the giver live, Who, with it, would the world have sent, And, that Dorinda may not fear I e'er will prove untrue, My vow shall, ending with the year, With it begin anew. MATTHEW PRIOR. CXXXVII WHO is Silvia? what is she, That all our swains commend her? Holy, fair, and wise is she; The heaven such grace did lend her, That she might admired be. Is she kind as she is fair? For beauty lives with kindness: Love doth to her eyes repair, To help him of his blindness; And, being help'd, inhabits there. Then to Silvia let us sing, That Silvia is excelling; She excels each mortal thing WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. CXXXVIII SONG LADIES, though to your conquering eyes And borrows those bright arms from you Then rack not lovers with disdain, SIR GEORGE ETHERAGE. CXXXIX HONEST lover whosoever, If in all thy love there ever Was one wav'ring thought, if thy flame Know this, Thou lov'st amiss, And to love true Thou must begin again, and love anew. If, when she appears i' th' room, Thou dost not quake, and art struck dumb, Dost not speak thy words twice over, |