SONG. PRITHEE, why so angry, sweet? 'Tis in vain To dissemble a disdain: That frown i' th' infancy I'll meet, * When thy rosy cheek thus checks I could sin with a pretence; Through that sweet chiding blush there breaks So fair, so bright an innocence. Thus your very frowns entrap My desire, And inflame me to admire That eyes dress'd in an angry shape Should kindle as with amorous fire. ODE. Laura Sleeping. WINDS, whisper gently whilst she sleeps, And fan her with your cooling wings, Whilst she her drops of beauty weeps From pure, and yet-unrivall'd springs! Glide over beauty's field, her face, To kiss her lip and cheek be bold, But with a calm and stealing pace, Neither too rude, nor yet too cold. Play in her beams, and crisp her hair, With such a gale as wings soft love; And with so sweet, so rich an air, As breathes from the Arabian grove. A breath as hush'd as lover's sigh, Or that unfolds the morning's door; Sweet, as the winds that gently fly To sweep the spring's enamell'd floor. * Who is troubled with a wife! Be she pious, or ungodly, Be she chaste, or what sounds oddly: Lastly, be she good or evil, Be she saint, or be she devil ; Yet, uneasy is his life Who is married to a wife. * ODE. Laura weeping. CHASTE, lovely Laura 'gan disclose, With a dejected look and pace When, meeting with her tell-tale glass, Sweet Sorrow dress'd in such a look A shaded leaf in Beauty's book, Character'd with clandestine fire. Then a full shower of pearly dew As in due homage to bestrew So have I seen the springing Morn Her glories by that conquer'd shade. Spare, Laura, spare those beauty's twins, Then let them shine forth, to declare |