Will you be jealous? Did you guess before ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER. Charms you call your dearest blessing, Lips that thrill at your caressing, Eyes a mutual soul confessing, Soon you'll make them grow Dim, and worthless your possessing, Not with age, but woe! THOMAS CAMPBELL, THE LADY'S "YES." "YES," I answered you last night; "No," this morning, sir, I say. Colors seen by candle-light Will not look the same by day. When the viols played their best, Lamps above, and laughs below, Love me sounded like a jest, Fit for yes or fit for no. Call me false or call me free, Vow, whatever light may shine, No man on your face shall see Any grief for change on mine. Yet the sin is on us both; Time to dance is not to woo; Wooing light makes fickle troth, Scorn of me recoils on you. Learn to win a lady's faith Nobly, as the thing is high, Lead her from the festive boards, Ever true, as wives of yore; ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. THE MAID'S REMONSTRANCE. NEVER wedding, ever wooing, All my life with sorrow strewing, Rivals banished, bosoms plighted, Now half quenched appears, Damped and wavering and benighted Midst my sighs and tears. LOVE'S SILENCE. BECAUSE I breathe not love to everie one, dare sweare He cannot love: No, no! let him alone." And think so still, if Stella know my minde. Profess, indeed, I do not Cupid's art ; But you, faire maids, at length this true shall finde, That his right badge is but worne in the hearte. Dumb swans, not chattering pies, do lovers prove: They love indeed who quake to say they love. SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. GIVE ME MORE LOVE OR MORE DISDAIN. GIVE me more love or more disdain ; The torrid or the frozen zone The temperate affords me none; Give me a storm; If it be love, Like Danaë in a golden shower, I swim in pleasure; if it prove Disdain, that torrent will devour My vulture hopes; and he's possessed Of heaven that's but from hell released; Then crown my joys, or cure my pain; Give me more love or more disdain. THOMAS CAREW. LOVE DISSEMBLED. FROM "AS YOU LIKE IT," ACT III. SC. 5. THINK not I love him, though I ask for him; 'Tis but a peevish boy:- yet he talks well; But what care I for words?- yet words do well, When he that speaks them pleases those that hear. |