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3Lobe. — Shakspeare. ALAs, that Love, whose view is muffled still, Should, without eyes, see pathways to his Will !

. 310 be. — Sir A. Hunt.
Wło is Love? 'tis not the kiss
Of a harlot lip—the Bliss

That doth perish
Even while we cherish

The fleeting Charm ; and what so fleet as this?
He is bless'd in Love alone,
Who loves for years, and loves but one.

310bc. — Shakspeare.
How wayward is this foolish Love,
That, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse,
And presently, all humbled, kiss the Rod

310be. — Shakspeare.
OUR separation so abides, and flies,
That thou, residing here, go'st yet with me,
And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee.

310 be. — Campbell. LOVE! in such a wilderness as this, Where Transport and Security entwine, Here is the empire of thy perfect Bliss, And here thou art a God indeed divine; Here shall no forms abridge, no hours confine The views, the walks, that boundless Joy inspire Roll on, ye days of raptured influence, shine ! Nor blind with Ecstasy's celestial fire, Small Love behold the spark of earth-born Time expire.

310bc. — Shakspeare.
OH, for a Falconer's voice,
To lure this tassel-gentle back again
Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud;
Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies,
And make her airy Tongue more hoarse than min
With repetition of my Romeo's name. -

3.0bc. — Shakspeare. HAT! keep a Week away? seven Days and Nights? Eightscore Eight Hours ? and Lovers’ absent Hours, Wore tedious than the dial, eightscore times 7 Oh weary Reck’ning !

3Lobe. — Shakspeare. So holy and so perfect is my Love, And I in such a poverty of Grace, That I shall think it a most plenteous crop To glean the broken ears after the man That the main Harvest reaps: loose now and then A scatter'd Smile, and that I’ll live upon.

310bc. — Byron. - ALAS! the Love of Women! it is known To be a lovely and a fearful thing; For all of theirs upon that Die is thrown : And if 'tis lost, Life has no more to bring To them but mockeries of the past alone.

310 be. — Shakspeare.

DID not take my leave of him, but had

Most pretty things to say: ere I could tell him, How I would think on him, at certain Hours, Such Thoughts, and such ;

Or have charged him

At the sixth hour of Morn, at Noon, at Midnight,
To encounter me with Orisons, for then
I am in Heaven for him; or ere I could
Give him that parting Kiss, which I had set
Betwixt two charming words, comes in my Father,
And, like the tyrannous breathing of the north,
Shakes all our Buds from growing.

3.0 pe. — Shakspeare.

WHILE injury of chance Puts back Leave-taking, justles roughly by All time of pause, rudely beguiles our Lips Of all rejoyndure, forcibly prevents Our lock’d Embraces, strangles our dear Vows, Even in the birth of our own labouring Breath. We two, that with so many thousand Sighs Each other bought, must poorly sell ourselves With the rude Brevity and Discharge of one. Injurious Time now, with a robber's haste, Crams his rich thiev’ry up, he knows not how. As many Farewells as be stars in Heaven, With distinct breath and consign'd Kisses to them, He fumbles up all in one loose Adieu ; And scants us with a single famish’d Kiss, Distasted with the salt of broken Tears.

3.0 pe. — Spenser.
For Lovers' Eyes more sharply sighted be
Than other men's, and in dear Love's delight
See more than any other Eyes can see.

3.0 pe. — Moore.

OH! who, that has ever had Rapture complete,

Would ask how we feel it, or why it is sweet;

How rays are confused, or how particles fly,
Through the medium refined of a Glance or a Sigh
Is there one, who but once would not rather have known it?
Than written. with Harvey, whole Volumes upon it”

310be. — Shakspeare.
A Loss of her,

That, like a Jewel, has hung twenty years,
About his neck, yet never lost her Lustre.

3.00c. — Shakspeare.

YOU are a Lover; borrow Cupid's wings,

And soar with them above a common bound. . . .

I am too sore empierced with his Shaft,
To soar with his light feathers; and so bound,
I cannot bound a pitch above dull Wo:
Under Love's heavy burden do I sink.

3.0 pe. — Shakspeare.

_ LovE goes toward Love, as school-boys from their books;

But Love from Love, toward school with heavy looks.

3.0 pe. — Spenser.
No lesse was she in secret Hart affected,
But that she masked it with Modestie
For feare she should of Lightnesse be detected.

3.0be. — Shakspeare.
I would have thee gone;
And yet no farther than a wanton's Bird,
That lets it hop a little from her hand,
Like a poor Prisoner in his twisted gyves,
And with a silk thread plucks it back again,
So loving jealous of his Liberty.

3.0 pe. — Shakspeare.
I WILL wind thee in my arms;
So doth the Woodbine, the sweet Honey-suckle,
Gently entwist the Maple; Ivy so
Enrings the barky fingers of the Elm.

3.0 pe. — Shakspeare.
LOVERS and Madmen have such seething brains,
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend
More than cool Reason ever comprehends.

3Lobe. — Spenser.
HEE greatly gan enamoured to wez,
And with vain thoughts her falsed fancy vex:
Her fickle Hart conceived hasty Fyre,
Like sparkes of Fire that fall in sclender flex,
That shortly brent into extreme Desyre,
And ransackt all her veines with Passion entyre.

310be. — Moore. HE loves—but knows not whom she loves, Nor what his race, nor whence he came ;

Like one who meets, in Indian groves,

Some beauteous Bird without a name,
Brought by the last ambrosial Breeze,
From isles in th’ undiscover'd seas,
To show his Plumage for a day
To wondering eyes, and wing away !

3Lobe. Shakspeare. NOW by the jealous queen of Heaven, that Kiss I carried from thee, dear; my true Lip Hath virgin’d it e'er since. 310be. — Spenser. AD, solemne, sowre, and full of Fancies fraile She woxe, yet wist she nether how nor why; She wist not (silly mayd) what she did aile, Yet wist she was not well at ease perdy, Yet thought it was not Love but some Melancholy.

3Lobe. — Shakspeare. OH, what damn’d Minutes tells he o'er, Who dotes, yet doubts; suspects, yet strongly loves!

310be. —Byron. T was such pleasure to behold him, such Enlargement of Existence to partake

Nature with him, to thrill beneath his touch,

To watch him slumbering, and to see him wake: To live with him for ever were so much;

But then the thought of parting made her quake: He was her own, her Ocean-treasure, cast

Like a rich Wreck—her First love, and her Last.

3.0 pe. — Mrs. Tighe. UNHAPPY Psychel soon the latent wound The fading Roses of her Cheek confess,

Her Eyes' bright Beams, in swimming sorrows drown'd,

Sparkle no more with Life and Happiness,

Her parent's fond Heart to bless;
She shuns adoring crowds, and seeks to hide

The pining sorrows which her Soul oppress,
Till to her mother's tears no more denied,
The secret Grief she owns, for which she lingering sigh’d.

3Lobe. — Shakspeare.
ALL thy vexations
Were but my trials of thy Love, and thou
Hast strangely stood the Test.

3Lobe. — Spenser.
HE rolling Wheel, that runneth often round,
The hardest Steel in tract of Time doth tear;
And drizzling Drops, that often do redound,
Firmest Flint doth in continuance wear:
Yet cannot I, with many a dropping tear,
And long entreaty, soften her hard Heart,
That she will once vouchsafe my plaint to hear,
Or look with pity on my painful Smart:
But when I plead, she bids me play my part;
And when I weep, she says Tears are but water;
And when I sigh, she says I know the art;
And when I wail, she turns herself to Laughter:
So do I weep and wail, and plead in vain,
Whiles she as Steel and Flint doth still remain.

310be. —Shakspeare.
TAKE, oh, take those Lips away,
That so sweetly were forsworn;
And those Eyes, the break of day,
Lights that do mislead the Morn;
But my Kisses bring again,
Seals of Love, but seal’d in vain.

310bc. — Shakspeare. MINE Eyes Were not in fault, for she was beautiful; Mine Ears, that heard her flattery; nor my Heart, That thought her like her Seeming: it had been vicious, To have mistrusted her.

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