Much ceremony; suits in love should not, Like suits in law, be rock'd from term to term. Shirley.
There is, sir, a critical minute in Ev'ry man's wooing, when his mistress may Be won, which if he carelessly neglect To prosecute, he may wait long enough Before he gain the like opportunity.
Marmyon's Antiquary. She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd: She is a woman, therefore may be won.
Shaks. Titus Andronicus. Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung, With feigning voice, verses of feigning love; And stol'n the impression of her fantasy With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gauds, conceits, Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweet-meats; messengers Of strong prevailment in unharden'd youth.
Shaks. Midsummer Night's Dream. By your gracious patience,
I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms,
What conjuration, and what mighty magic, (For such proceeding I am charg'd withal,) I won his daughter with.
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs: She swore,—in faith, 't was strange, 't was passing strange;
'Twas pitiful, 't was wondrous pitiful:
She wish'd she had not heard it; yet she wish'd That heaven had made her such a man; she thank'd me;
And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her, I should but teach him how to tell my story, And that would woo her.
If this inducement move her not to love, Send her a letter of thy noble deeds.
What! I, that kill'd her husband, and his father, To take her in her heart's extremest hate; With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, The bleeding witness of her hatred by; With God, her conscience, and these bars against
And I no friend to back my suit withal, But the plain devil, and dissembling looks, And yet to win her, all the world to nothing! Ha! Shaks. Richard III. Peace! thou know'st not gold's effect: Tell me her father's name, and 't is enough; For I will board her, though she chides as loud As thunder, when the clouds in autumn crack. Shaks. Taming the Shrew Say that she rail: why then I'll tell her plain, She sings as sweetly as a nightingale : Say, that she frown: I'll say, she looks as clear As morning roses newly wash'd with dew: Say, she be mute, and will not speak a word; Then I'll commend her volubility, And say-she uttereth piercing eloquence.
Shaks. Taming the Shrew. Every night he comes With music of all sorts, and songs composed To her unworthiness: it nothing steads us, To chide him from our eaves, for he persists As if his life lay on 't.
Say that upon the altar of her beauty You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart; Write, till your ink be dry; and with your tears Moist it again; and frame some feeling line, That may discover such integrity.
Shaks. Two Gentlemen of Verona. But though I lov'd you well, I woo'd you not; And yet, good faith, I wish'd myself a man; Or, that we women had men's privilege Of speaking first.
Shaks. Troilus and Cressida. I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap, And deck my body in gay ornaments, And witch sweet ladics with my words and looks. Shaks. Henry VI. Part III Gentle lady,
When I did first impart my love to you, I.freely told you, all the wealth I had Ran in my veins, I was a gentleman: And then I told you true.
Shaks. Merchant of Venice Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces, Tho' ne'er so black, say they have angels' faces, That man that hath a tongue I say is no man, If with his tongue he cannot win a woman Shaks. Two Gentlemen of Verma
If she do frown, 't is not in hate of you, But rather to beget more love in you: If she do chide, 't is not to have you gone; For why, the fools are mad if left alone. Take no repulse, whatever she doth say; For-get you gone-she doth not mean-away. Shaks. Two Gentlemen of Verona.
Come then, ye virgins, and ye youths, whose hearts Have felt the raptures of refining love; And thou, Amanda, come, pride of my song! Form'd by the graces, loveliness itself! Come with those downcast eyes, sedate and sweet, Those looks demure, that deeply pierce the soul, Where, with the light of thoughtful reason mix'd, Shines lively fancy, and the feeling heart:
These credulous ears, he pour'd the sweetest words Oh come! and while the rosy-footed May Steals blushing on, together let us tread Beaumont's Maid's Tragedy. The morning dews, and gather in their prime
That art or love could frame.
He that will win his dame, must do As love does when he bends his bow; With one hand thrust the lady from, And with the other pull her home.
She that with poetry is won, Is but a desk to write upon;
Fresh blooming flowers to grace thy braided hair And thy lov'd bosom that improves their sweets. Thomson's Seasons.
His folded flock secure, the shepherd home
Butler's Hudibras. Hies merry-hearted; and by turns relieves
And what men say of her, they mean No more than on the thing they lean.
Mention'd the business to her all alone, Poor soul she blush'd as if already she Had done some harm by hearing of me speak; Whilst from her pretty eyes two fountains ran So true, so native, down her fairest cheeks; As if she thought herself oblig'd to cry, 'Cause all the world was not so good as she.
John Fountain's Rewards of Virtue.
Like conquering tyrants you our breasts invade, Where you are pleas'd to ravage for a while: But soon you find new conquests out and leave The ravag'd province ruinate and bare.
Otway's Orphan. Trust me-with women worth the being won, The softest lover ever best succeeds.
1 am not form'd, by flattery and praise, Ry sighs and tears, and all the whining trade Of love, to feed a fair one's vanity; To charm at once and spoil her.
Thomson's Tancred and Sigismunda.
The ruddy milk-maid of her brimming pail; The beauty whom perhaps his witless heart, Unknowing what the joy-mix'd anguish means, Sincerely loves, by that best language shown Of cordial glances, and obliging deeds.
Now from the world, Sacred to sweet retirement, lovers steal, And pour their souls in transport.
Thomson's Seasons. She, proud to rule, yet strangely fram'd to tease, Neglects his offers while her airs she plays, Shoots scornful glances from the bended frown, In brisk disorder trips it up and down; Then hums a careless tune to lay the storm, And sits and blushes, smiles, and yields in form. Parnell's Hesiod From lips like those what precept fail'd to move? Too soon they taught me, 't was no sin to love.
Some squire, perhaps you take delight to rack, Whose game is whist, whose treat a toast in sack, Who visits with a gun, presents you birds, Or with his hounds comes hallooing from the stable, Then gives a smacking buss and cries-no words, Makes love with nods and knees beneath the table; Whose laughs are hearty, though his jests are
And loves you best of all things, but his horse. Pope. O days remember'd well! remember'd all! The bitter sweet, the honey and the gall; Those garden rambles in the silent night, Those trees so shady, and that moon so bright, That thickset alley by the arbour clos'd, That woodbine seat where we at last repos'd; And then the hopes that came and then were gone, Quick as the clouds beneath the moon past on.
The lover now beneath the western star, Sighs through the medium of his sweet segar, And fills the ears of some consenting she, With puffs and vows, with smoke and constancy Moore
Fondly the wheeling fire-flies flew around her, Those little glitterers of the London night; But none of these possess'd a sting to wound her- She was a pitch beyond a coxcomb's flight.
Not much he kens, I ween, of woman's breast, Who thinks that wanton thing is won by sighs; What careth she for hearts when once possessed? Do proper homage to thy idol's eyes; But not too humbly, or she will despise Thee and thy suit, though told in moving tropes; Disguise even tenderness, if thou art wise; Brisk confidence still best with woman copes; Pique her and soothe in turn, soon passion crowns thy hopes. Byron's Childe Harold. The gentle pressure, and the thrilling touch, The least glance better understood than words, Which still said all, and ne'er could say too much. Byron.
Like a lovely tree She grew to womanhood, and between whiles Rejected several suitors, just to learn How to accept a better in his turn.
Woe to the man who ventures a rebuke! "T will but precipitate a situation Extremely disagreeable, but common To calculators when they count on woman.
Learn to win a lady's faith
Nobly as the thing is high; Bravely, as for life and death With a loyal gravity.
Lead her from the festive boards, Point her to the starry skies, Guard her by your truthful words, Pure from courtship's flatteries.
Go, prick thy face, and over-red thy fear, Thou lily-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patch? Death of thy soul those linen cheeks of thine Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face? Shaks. Macbeth.
Art thou afear'd To be the same in thine own act and valour, As thou art in desire? wouldst thou have that Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, And live a coward in thine own esteem;
Byron. Letting-I dare not-wait upon — I would?
Like dastard curres, that having at a bay The savage beast embost in wearie chace, Dare, not adventure on the stubborn prey, Ne byte before, but rome from place to place, To get a snatch when turned is his face.
Spenser's Fairy Queen. Like peasant footh ys do they keep the walls, And dare not take up arms like gentlemen. Shaks. Henry VI. Part I.
That which in mean men we entitle patience, Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.
Brag of their souls; no matter what they say,
Shaks. Richard II. A coward dares, in ill, do more than they.
The like may of the heart be said; Courage and terror there are bred,
All those whose hearts are loose and low, Start, if they hear but the tattoo: And mighty physical their fear is ; For, soon as noise of combat near is, Their heart descending to their breeches, Must give their stomachs cruel twitches, But heroes who o'ercome or die, Have their hearts hung extremely high.
Those that fly may fight again, Which he can never do that's slain. Hence timely running 's no mean part Of conduct, in the martial art, By which some glorious feats achieve, As citizens by breaking thrive, And cannons conquer armies while They seem to draw off and recoil; Is held the gallant'st course and bravest, To great exploits, as well as safest.
That spares th' expense of time and pains, And dangerous beating out of brains; And in the end, prevails as certain As those that never trust to fortune; But make their fear do execution Beyond the stoutest resolution. As earthquakes kill without a blow, And only trembling, overthrow.
Go-let thy less than woman's hand Assume the distaff-not the brand.
Is one of these two cowards; Either to wish to die
When he should live, or live when he should die. Sir Robert Howard's Blind Lady.
Cowards fear to die; but courage stout, Rather than live in snuff, will be put out. Sir Walter Raleigh on the Snuff of a Candle. Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once. Shaks. Julius Cæsar
By laws of learned duellists, They that are bruis'd with wood or fists, And think one beating may for once Suffice, are cowards and poltroons : But if they dare engage t' a second, They're stout and gallant fellows reckon'd. Butler's Hudibras.
The coward wretch whose hand and heart Can bear to torture aught below, Is ever first to quail and start From slightest pain or equal foe.
The coward never on himself relies, But to an equal for assistance flies.
But, I remember, when the fight was done, Byron's Bride of Abydos. When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil,
Whom neither glory or danger can excite, 'Tis vain t' attempt with speech; for the mind's fear
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress'd: Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin, new reap'd, Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest home.
Shaks. Henry IV. Part I.
He was perfum'd like a milliner: And 'twixt his finger and his thumb, he held A pouncet-box, which ever and anon He gave his nose: and still he smil'd and talk'd;
Keeps all-brave sounds from ent'ring at that ear. Jonson's Catiline. Think not, coward, wit can hide the shame Of hearts; which, while they dare not strike for And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,
Would make it virtue in them to forbear.
Lord Brooke's Alaham. Fear is my vassal, when I frown he flies; A hundred times in life a coward dies. Marston's Insatiate Countess. But look for ruin when a coward wins; For fear and cruelty were ever twins.
He call'd them untaught knaves, unmannerly. To bring a slovenly unhandsome corpse Betwixt the wind and his nobility.
Shaks. Henry IV. Part I. This is he,
That kiss'd his hand away in courtesy; This is the ape of form, Monsieur the nice, That when he plays at tables, chides the dice In honourable terms. Shaks. Love's Labour
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