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The maid (and thereby hangs a tale),
Could ever yet produce:
No grape, that's kindly ripe, could be
Her finger was so small, the ring,
And to say truth (for out it must)
Her feet beneath her petticoat,
Her cheeks so rare a white was on,
(Who sees them is undone),
The side that 's next the sun.
Her lips were red, and one was thin,
Her mouth so small, when she does speak, Thou 'dst swear her teeth her words did break, That they might passage get;
But she so handled still the matter,
They came as good as ours, or better,
Just in the nick the cook knocked thrice, And all the waiters in a trice
His summons did obey;
Each serving-man, with dish in hand, Marched boldly up, like our trained band, Presented, and away.
When all the meat was on the table,
The business of the kitchen's great,
Now hats fly off, and youths carouse;
On the sudden up they rise and dance;
Then dance again and kiss:
TRUTH IN LOVE.
Of thee, kind boy, I ask no red and white,
No odd becoming graces,
Black eyes, or little know-not-whats in faces;
I ask no more,
There's no such thing as that we beauty call,
For though some long ago
Liked certain colours mingled so and so,
To black and blue,
Tis not the meat, but 'tis the appetite
And if I like one dish
More than another, that a pheasant is;
We up be wound,
Love, Reason, Hate, did once bespeak
Love coupled last, and so it fell,
They break, and Love would Reason meet,
The rest do break again, and Pride
ORSAMES' SONG IN 'AGLAURA.'
Why so pale and wan, fond lover?
Will, when looking well can't move her,
Why so dull and mute, young sinner?
Will, when speaking well can't win her,
Quit, quit, for shame, this will not move: This cannot take her.
If of herself she will not love,
Nothing can make her:
I prithee send me back my heart,
For if from yours you will not part,
Yet now I think on 't, let it lie,
To find it were in vain,
For th' hast a thief in either eye
Why should two hearts in one breast lie
But love is such a mystery,
For when I think I'm best resolv'd,
Then farewell care, and farewell woe,
For I'll believe I have her heart,
THE LUTE SONG IN THE SAD ONE.'
Hast thou seen the down in the air,
When wanton blasts have tossed it? Or the ship on the sea,
When ruder winds have crossed it? Hast thou marked the crocodile's weeping, Or the fox's sleeping?
Or hast viewed the peacock in his pride,
Or the dove by his bride,
When he courts for his lechery?
O, so fickle, O, so vain, O, so false, so false is she!