love poem

Now let her change and spare not;
Since she proves strange I care not:
Fain'd love charm'd so my delight
That still I doted on her sight.
But she is gone, new joies imbracing
And my desires disgracing.

When did I erre in blindnesse?
Or vexe her with unkindnesse?
If my cares serv'd her alone,
Why is shee thus untimely gone?
True love abides to th' houre of dying;
False love is ever flying.

False, then farewell for ever:
Once false proves faithfull never.
Hee that boasts now of thy love

XV.
So many loves have I neglected
Whose good parts might move mee,
That now I live of all rejected,
There is none will love me.
Why is mayden heate so coy?
It freezeth when it burneth,
Looseth what it might injoy,
And, having lost it, mourneth.

Should I then wooe, that have been wooed,

VI.
Faine would I my love disclose,
Aske what honour might denye;
But both love and her I lose,
From my motion if shee flye.
Worse then paine is feare to mee:
Then hold in fancy, though it burne;
If not happy, safe Ile be,
And to my clostred cares returne.

Yet, o yet, in vaine I strive
To represse my school'd desire;
More and more the flames revive,
I consume in mine owne fire.
She would pitty, might shee know
The harmes that I for her endure:

II.
How eas'ly wert thou chained,
Fond hart, by favours fained!
Why liv'd thy hopes in grace,
Straight to dye disdained?
But, since th' art now beguiled
By Love that falsely smiled,
In some lesse happy place
Mourne alone exiled.
My love still here increaseth,
And with my love my griefe,
While her sweet bounty ceaseth,
That gave my woes reliefe.
Yet 'tis no woman leaves me,
For such may prove unjust:
A Goddesse thus deceives me,

When the God of merrie love
As yet in his cradle lay,
Thus his wither'd nurse did say:
Thou a wanton boy wilt prove
To deceive the powers above;
For by thy continuall smiling
I see thy power of beguiling.

Therewith she the babe did kisse,
When a sodaine fire out came
From those burning lips of his,
That did her with love enflame;
But none would regard the same,
So that, to her daie of dying,
The old wretch liv'd ever crying.

What God, what Genius did the Pencil move
When K NELLER painted These?
Twas Friendship — warm as Phaebus , kind as Love,
And strong as Hercules .

54 Saturday, 22 September 1750

Tu-ne etiam moreris? Ah! quid me linquis, Erasme,
Ante meus quam sit conciliatus amor?
J. C. Scaliger [Epit. in Laude Erasmi ]

Art thou too fall'n? ere anger could subside
And love return, has great Erasmus died?

Long may live my lovely Hetty!
Always young and always pretty!
Always pretty, always young,
Live my lovely Hetty long!
Always young and always pretty;
Long may live my lovely Hetty!

Give me that old-time religion,
Give me that old-time religion,
Give me that old-time religion,
It's good enough for me.

It was good for our fathers,
It was good for our fathers,
It was good for our fathers,
It's good enough for me.

It was good for our mothers,
It was good for our mothers,
It was good for our mothers,
It's good enough for me.

It was good for Paul and Silas,
It was good for Paul and Silas,
It was good for Paul and Silas,
It's good enough for me.

Through the deep shadows of the darkening years,
She strove with griefs, which oft were agonies, —
The traitorous Hopes transformed to haunting Fears,
The transient Raptures ending but in sighs:

Till at the last, the life-clouds cleared away,
The future bathed in promise heavenly bright,
She heard a tender voice which seemed to say,
" At evening time, behold! I give thee light! "

For love, true love, her woman's nature yearned, —
And now true Love hath crowned her longing wild,