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SHAKESPEARE,

But, sure, he's proud; and yet his pride becomes | Still questioned me the story of my life, hiin :

From year to year ; the battles, sieges, fortunes, He'll make a proper man : The best thing in him That I have passed. Is his complexion ; and faster than his tongue I ran it through, even from my boyish days, Did make offence, his eye did heal it up. To the very moment that he bade me tell it : He is not very tall; yet for his years he's tall; Wherein / spake of most disastrous chances, His leg is but so so ; and yet 't is well : Of moving accidents by flood and field ; There was a pretty redness in his lip,

Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly A little riper and more lusty red

breach ; Than that mixed in his cheek; 't was just the of being taken by the insolent foe, difference

And sold to slavery ; of my redemption thence, Betwixt the constant red, and mingled damask. And portance in my travel's history : There be some women, Silvius, had they marked Wherein of antres vast, and deserts idle, him

Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads In parcels, as I did, would have gone near

touch heaven, To fall in love with him : but, for my part, It was my hint to speak, - such was the process ; I love him not, nor hate him not; and yet And of the Cannibals that each other eat, I have more cause to hate him than to love him: The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads For what had he to do to chide at me?

Do grow beneath their shoulders.

This to hear, He said mine eyes were black, and my hair black; Would Desdemona seriously incline : And, now I am remembered, scorned at me : But still the house affairs would draw her thence : I marvel, why I answered not again :

Which ever as she could with haste despatch, But that's all one; omittance is no quittance. She'd come again, and with a greedy ear

Devour up my discourse. Which I observing,
Took once a pliant hour; and found good means
To draw from her a prayer

earnest heart,

That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,
OTHELLO'S DEFENCE.

Whereof by parcels she had something heard,
FROM "OTHELLO," ACT I. SC. 3.

But not intentively: I did consent; OTHELLO. Most potent, grave, and reverend And often did beguile her of her tears,

When I did speak of some distressful stroke, signiors,

That my youth suffered. My story being done, My very noble and approved good masters, – That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, She Swore, – in faith 't was strange, 't was pass

She gave me for my pains a world of sighs : It is most true ; true, I have married her :

ing strange ; The very heau and front of my offending

'T was pitiful, 't was wondrous pitiful : Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my She wished she had not heard it ; yet she wished speech,

That Heaveu had made her such a nan : she And little blessed with the soft phrase of peace ;

thanked me ; For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith, Till now some nine moons wasted, they have used And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,

I should teach him how to tell my story, Their dearest action in the tented field ;

And that would woo her. Upon this hint, I And little of this great world can I speak,

spake More than pertains to feats of broil and battle ; And therefore little shall I grace my cause

She loved me for the dangers I had passed, In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious And I loved her that she did pity them. patience,

This only is the witchcraft I have used : I will a round unvarnished tale deliver

Here comes the lady, let her witness it. Of my whole course of love ; what drugs, what

charms,
What conjuration, and what mighty magic, -

AH, HOW SWEET.
For such proceeding I am charged withal, --
I won his daughter.

Az, how sweet it is to love !
I'll present

Ah, how gay is young desire !
How I did thrive in this fair lady's love,

And what pleasing pains we prove And she in mine.

When we first approach love's fire !

Pains of love be sweeter far Her father loved me ; oft invited me;

Than all other pleasures are.

SHAKESPEARE.

FROM " TYRANNIC LOVE," ACT IV. SC. I.

Sighs which are from lovers blown

Do but gently heave the heart : E'en 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 reverence use,

Treat them 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 every youthful vein ; But each tide does less supply,

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

JOHN DRYDEN.

WHY, LOVELY CHARMER?

FROM "THE HIVE."

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 camot love thee less or more.

ANONYMOUS.

I PRITHEE SEND ME BACK MY HEART.

I PRITHEE send me back my heart,

Since I cannot have thine ;
For if from yours you will not part,

Why then shouldst thou have mine?

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

To find it were in vain ; For thou 'st a thief in either eye

Would steal it back again.

Why should two hearts in one breast lie,

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

If thus our breasts thou sever ?

But love is such a mystery,

I cannot find it out ;
For when I think I'm best resolved

I then am most in doubt.

Then farewell care, and farewell woe ;

I will no longer pine ;
For I 'll believe I have her heart
As much as she has mine.

SIR JOHN SUCKLING

IF DOUGHTY DEEDS MY LADY PLEASE.

If doughty deeds my lady plense,

Right soon I 'll mount my steed,
And strong his arm and fast his seat

That bears frae me the meed.
I'll wear thy colors in my cap,

Thy picture at my heart,
And he that bends not to thine eye
Shall rue it to his smart !
Then tell me how to woo thee, Love ;

0, tell me how to woo thee !
For thy dear sake nae care I 'll take,

Though ne'er another trow me.
If gay attire delight thine eye,

I'll dight me in array ;
I'll tend thy chanıber door all night,

And squire thee all the day.
If sweetest sounds can win thine ear,

These sounds I 'll strive to catch ;
Thy voice I 'll steal to woo thysell,

That voice that nane can match.
But if fond love thy heart can gain,

I never broke a vow ;
Nae maiden lays her skaith to me ;

I never loved but you.
For you alonc I ride the ring,

For you I wear the blue ;
For you alone I strive to sing,
0, tell me how to woo !
Then tell me how to woo thee, Love ;

0, tell me how to woo thee !
For thy dear sake nae care I 'll take,

Though ne'er another trow me.

GRAHAM OF GARTMORE

TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON.

When Love with unconfined wings

Hovers within my gates,
And my divine Althea brings

To whisper at my grates ;
When I lie tangled in her hair

And fettered with her eye,
The birds that wanton in the air

linow 110 such liberty.

When flowing cups pass swiftly round

With 10 allaying Thames, Our careless heads with roses crowned,

Our hearts with loyal flames; When thirsty grief in wine we steer,

When healths and draughts go free, Fishes that tipple in the deep

Know no such liberty.

When I the dawn used to admire,

And praised the coming day,
I little thought the growing fire

Must take my rest away.
Your charms in harmless childhood lay,

Like metals in the mine ;
Age from no face took more away,

Than youth concealed in thine.

When, linnet-like confined,

With shriller throat shall sing
The mercy, sweetness, majesty

And glories of my King;
When I shall voice aloud how good

He is, how great should be,
The enlarged winds, that curl the flood,

Know no such liberty.

Stone walls do not a prison make,

Nor iron bars a cage ;
Minds innocent and quiet take

That for an hermitage :
If I have freedom in my love,

And in iny soul am free,
Angels alone, that soar above,

Enjoy such liberty.

But as your charms insensibly

To their perfection prest, Fond Love as unperceived did Ay,

And in my bosomn rest.
My passion with your beauty grew,

And Cupid at my heart,
Still as his mother favored you,

Threw a new flaming dart.
Each gloried in their wanton part :

To make a lover, he
Employed the utmost of his art ;

To make a Beauty, she.
Though now I slowly bend to love

Uncertain of my fate, If your fair self my chains approve,

I shall my freedom hate.
Lovers, like dying men, may well

At first disordered be,
Since none alive can truly tell

What fortune they must see.

COLONEL RICHARD LOVELACE.

RIVALRY IN LOVE.

SIR CHARLES SEDLEY

Of all the torments, all the cares,

With which our lives are curst; Of all the plagues a lover bears,

Sure rivals are the worst !
By partners in each other kind,

Afflictions easier grow ;
In love alone we hate to find

Companions of our woe..

Sylvia, for all the pangs you see

Are laboring in my breast, I beg not you would favor me ; —

Would you but slight the rest ! How great soe'er your rigors are,

With them alone I'll cope ; I can endure my own despair,

But not another's hope.

THE FLOWER'S NAME. Here's the garden she walked across,

Arm in my arm, such a short while since: Hark! now I push its wicket, the moss

Hinders the hinges, and makes them wince. She must have reached this shrub ere she turned,

As back with that murmur the wicket swung : For shelaid the poor snail my chance foot spurned,

To feed and forget it the leaves among. Down this siile of the gravel-walk

She went while her robe's eilge brushed the box: And here she paused in her gracious talk

To point me a moth on the milk-white phlox. Roses, ranged in valiant row,

I will never think that she passed you by ! She loves you, noble roses, I know ;

But yonder see where the rock-plants lie !

WILLIAM WALSH.

TO A VERY YOUNG LADY.

An, Chloris ! that I now could sit

As unconcerned as when
Your infant beanty could beget

No pleasure, por no pain.

This flower she stopped at, finger on lip, —

Stooped over, in doubt, as settling its claim ; Till she gave me, with pride to make no slip, | Its soft meandering Sparish name.

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IF love were what the rose is,

And I were like the leaf, Our lives would grow together In sad or singing weather,

THE FLOWER O' DUMBLANE. The sun has gane down o'er the lofty Ben Lomond,

And left the red clouds to preside o'er the scene, While lanely I stray in the calm summer gloamin', To muse on sweet Jessie, the Flower o' Dum.

blane.

seen

RICHARD RYAN.

ROBERT TANNAHILL.

How sweet is the brier, wi' its saft fauldin' blos

0, SAW YE THE LASS ? som, And sweet is the birk, wi' its mantle o' green ; 0, saw ye the lass wi' the bonny blue een ? Yet sweeter and fairer, and dear to this bosom, Her smile is the sweetest that ever was seen; Is lovely young Jessie, the Flower o’Dumblane. Her cheek like the rose is, but fresher, I ween ;

She's the loveliest lassie that trips on the green. She 's modest as ony, and blithe as she’s bonnie,

The home of my love is below in the valley, For guileless simplicity marks her its ain ;

Where wild-flowers welcome the wandering bee ; And far be the villain, divested of feeling, Wha'd blight in its bloom the sweet Flower o' But the sweetest of flowers in that spot that is Dumblane.

Is the maid that I love wi' the bonny blue een. Sing on, thou sweet mavis, thy hymn to the e'ening!

When night overshadows her cot in the glen, Thou 'rt dear to the echoes of Calderwood glen ; She 'll steal out to meet her loved Donald again ;

And when the moon shines on the valley so green, Sae dear to this bosom, sae artless and winning, Is charming young Jessie, the Flower o' Dum. I'll welcome the lass wi' the bonny blue een.

As the dove that has wandered away from his blane.

nest How lost were my days till I met wi' my Jessie ! Returns to the mate his fond heart loves the best,

The sports o' the city seemed foolish and vain ; I'll fly from the world's false and vanishing scene, I ne'er saw a nymph I would ca' my dear lassie To my dear one, the lass wi' the bomy blue een. Till charmed wi' sweet Jessie, the Flower o'

Dumblane.
Though mine were the station o' loftiest grandeur,

Amidst its profusion I'd languish in pain, THE LASS OF RICHMOND HILL.
And reckon as naething the height o' its splendor,
If wanting sweet Jessie, the Flower o' Dum On Richmond Hill there lives a lass
blane.

More bright than May-day morn,
Whose charms all other maids surpass,

A rose without a thorn,
MARY MORISON.

This lass so neat, with smiles so sweet, O Mary, at thy window be !

Has won my right good-will ; It is the wished, the trysted hour!

I'd crowns resign to call her mine,
Those smiles and glances let me see

Sweet lass of Richmond Hill.
That make the miser's treasure poor :
How blithely wad I bide the stoure,

Ye zephyrs gay, that fan the air,
A weary slave frae sun to sun,

And wanton through the grove, Could I the rich reward secure,

0, whisper to my charming fair, The lovely Mary Morison.

I die for her I love. Yestreen when to the trembling string

How happy will the shepherd be The dance gaed through the lighted ha',

Who calls this nymph his own ! To thee my fancy took its wing,

0, may her choice be fixed on me! I sat, but neither heard nor saw :

Mine's fixed on her alone. Though this was fair, and that was braw,

JAMES UPTON
And yon the toast of a' the town,
I sighed, and said amang them a',
"Ye are na Mary Morison."

THE BROOKSIDE.
O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace
Wha for thy sake wad gladly dee?

I WANDERED by the brookside,
Or canst thou break that heart of his,

I wandered by the mill ; Whase only faut is loving thee?

I could not hear the brook flow, If love for love thon wilt na gie,

The noisy wheel was still ; At least be pity to me shown ;

There was no burr of grasshopper, A thought ungentle canna be

No chirp of any bird,
The thought o' Mary Morison.

But the beating of my own heart
Was all the sound I heard.

ROBERT BURYS.

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