"I never gave a kiss (says Prue), "To naughty man, for I abhor it."
She will not _give_ a kiss, "tis true; She"ll _take_ one though, and thank you for it.
ON A SQUINTING POETESS.
To no _one_ Muse does she her glance confine, But has an eye, at once, to _all the Nine_!
TO .... ....
_Maria pur quando vuol, non e bisogna mutar ni faccia ni voce per esser un Angelo_.[1]
Die when you will, you need not wear At Heaven"s Court a form more fair Than Beauty here on earth has given; Keep but the lovely looks we see-- The voice we hear--and you will be An angel ready-made for Heaven!
[1] The words addressed by Lord Herbert of Cherbury to the beautiful Nun at Murano.--_See his Life_.
TO ROSA.
_A far conserva, e c.u.mulo d"amanti.
"Past. Fid_."
And are you then a thing of art, Seducing all, and loving none; And have I strove to gain a heart Which every c.o.xcomb thinks his own?
Tell me at once if this be true, And I will calm my jealous breast; Will learn to join the dangling crew, And share your simpers with the rest.
But if your heart be _not_ so free,-- Oh! if another share that heart, Tell not the hateful tale to me, But mingle mercy with your art.
I"d rather think you "false as h.e.l.l,"
Than find you to be all divine,-- Than know that heart could love so well, Yet know that heart would not be mine!
TO PHILLIS.
Phillis, you little rosy rake, That heart of yours I long to rifle; Come, give it me, and do not make So much ado about a _trifle_!
TO A LADY.
ON HER SINGING.
Thy song has taught my heart to feel Those soothing thoughts of heavenly love, Which o"er the sainted spirits steal When listening to the spheres above!
When, tired of life and misery, I wish to sigh my latest breath, Oh, Emma! I will fly to thee, And thou shalt sing me into death.
And if along thy lip and cheek That smile of heavenly softness play, Which,--ah! forgive a mind that"s weak,-- So oft has stolen my mind away.
Thou"lt seem an angel of the sky, That comes to charm me into bliss: I"ll gaze and die--Who would not die, If death were half so sweet as this?
SONG.
ON THE BIRTHDAY OF MRS. ----.
WRITTEN IN IRELAND. 1799.
Of all my happiest hours of joy, And even I have had my measure, When hearts were full, and every eye Hath kindled with the light of pleasure, An hour like this I ne"er was given, So full of friendship"s purest blisses; Young Love himself looks down from heaven, To smile on such a day as this is.
Then come, my friends, this hour improve, Let"s feel as if we ne"er could sever; And may the birth of her we love Be thus with joy remembered ever!
Oh! banish every thought to-night, Which could disturb our soul"s communion; Abandoned thus to dear delight, We"ll even for once forget the Union!
On that let statesmen try their powers, And tremble o"er the rights they"d die for; The union of the soul be ours, And every union else we sigh for.
Then come, my friends, etc.
In every eye around I mark The feelings of the heart o"er-flowing; From every soul I catch the spark Of sympathy, in friendship glowing.
Oh! could such moments ever fly; Oh! that we ne"er were doomed to lose "em; And all as bright as Charlotte"s eye, And all as pure as Charlotte"s bosom.