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ON WOMANS INCONSTANCY.

LOVED thee once, I'll love no more;

Thine be the grief, as is the blame; Thou art not what thou wast before,

What reason I should be the same? He that can love, unloved again, Hath better store of love than brain; God send me love my debts to pay, While unthrifts fool their love away,

Nothing could have my love o’erthrown,

If thou hadst still continued mine; Yea, if thou hadst remained thy own,

I might, perchance, have yet been thine; But thou thy freedom didst recall, That if thou might elsewhere enthrall, And then how could I but disdain A captive's captive to remain ?

When new desires had conquered thee,

And changed the object of thy will, It had been lethargy in me,

Not constancy to love thee still; Yea, it had been a sin to go And prostitute affection so, Since we are taught no prayers to say To such as must to others pray.

Yet do thou glory in thy choice,

Thy choice of his good fortune boast; I'll neither grieve nor yet rejoice

To see him gain what I have lost;
The height of my disdain shall be
To laugh at him, to blush for thee;
To love thee, still, but go no more
A-begging to a beggar's door.

Sir ROBERT AYTON.

ANNIE LAURIE. AXWELTON braes are bonnie,

Where early fa's the dew; And it's there that Annie Laurie

Gi’ed me her promise true; Gi’ed me her promise true,

Which ne'er forgot will be ; And for bonnie Annie Laurie,

I'd lay me doune and dee.

That e'er the sun shone on,

And dark blue is her ee; And for bonnie Annie Laurie,

I'd lay me doune and dee.

ike dew on the gowan lying

Is the fa’ of her fairy feet; Like the winds in summer sighing,

Her voice is low and sweet;
Her voice is low and sweet ;

And she's a' the world to me;
And for bonnie Annie Laurie,
I'd lay me doune and dee.

DOUGLAS OF FINGLAND.

TO ALTHEA, FROM PRISON.

HEN Love with unconfined wings

Hovers within my gates,
And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at the grates ;
When I lie tangled in her hair,

And fettered to her eye,
The birds, that wanton in the air,

Know no such liberty.

When flowing cups run swiftly round

With no allaying Thames, Our careless heads with roses crowned,

Our hearts with loyal flames; When thirsty grief in wine we steep,

When healths and draughts go free, Fishes, that tipple in the deep,

Know no such liberty.

When, like committed linnets, I

With shriller throat shall sing
The sweetness, mercy, majesty

And glories of my king;
When I shall voice aloud how good

He is, how great should be,
Enlarged winds, that curl the flood,

Know no such liberty.

Stone walls do not a prison make,

Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take

That for an hermitage;
If I have freedom in my love,

And in my soul am free,
Angels alone, that soar above,
Enjoy such liberty.

RICHARD LOVELACE,

Her brow is like the snaw-drift,

Her throat is like the swan; Her face it is the sairest

That e'er the sun shone on,

SONG.

(From "As You Like It.")

T was a lover and his lass,

Between the acres of the rye, With a hey and a ho, and a hey nonino, With a hey and a ho, and a hey nonino, That o'er the green corn-field did pass, These pretty country folks would lie, In the spring time, the only pretty ring-time, In spring-time, the only pretty ring-time,

When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding: When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding: Sweet lovers love the spring.

Sweet lovers love the spring.

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This carol they began that hour,

With a hey and a ho, and a hey nonino,
How that a life was but a flower
In spring-time, the only pretty ring-time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding:

Sweet lovers love the spring.
And, therefore, take the present time,

With a hey and a ho, and a hey nonino,
For love is crowned with the prime
In spring-time, the only pretty ring-time,

When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding:
Sweet lovers love the spring.

WILLIAM SHAKSPERE.

COMIN THROUGH THE RYE.

IN a body meet a body

Comin' through the rye,
Gin a body kiss a body,

Need a body cry?
Every lassie has her laddie,

Ne'er a ane hae I,

Yet a' the lads they smile at me

When comin' through the rye.
Amang the train there is a swain

I dearly lo'e mysel',
But whaur his hame or what his name,

I dinna care to tell.

Ask me no more if east or west
The phenix builds her spicy nest;
For unto you at last she flies,
And in your fragrant bosom dies.

THOMAS CAREW.

Gin a body meet a body

Comin' frae the town, Gin a body greet a body,

Need a body frown?
Every lassie has her laddie,

Ne'er a ane hae I;
Yet a' the lads they smile at me,

When comin' through the rye.
Amang the train there is a swain

I dearly lo'e mysel',
But whaur his hame, or what his name,
I dinna care to tell.

ANONYMOUS.
(Scotland, 18th Century.)

GO, LOVELY ROSE.
O, lovely rose:
Tell her that wastes her time and me,

That now she knows,
When I resemble her to thee,
How sweet and fair she seems to be.

G

SONG- "ASK ME NO MORE.

;

Tell her that's young,
And shuns to have her graces spied,

That, hadst thou sprung
In deserts where no men abide,
Thou must have uncommended died.

When June is past, the fading rose;
For in your beauties, orient deep,
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.
Ask me no more whither do stray
The golden atoms of the day ;
For in pure love, heaven did prepare
These powders to enrich your hair.
Ask me no more whither doth haste
The nightingale, when May is past;
For in your sweet, dividing throat
She winters, and keeps warm her note.
Ask me no more where those stars light
That downwards fall in dead of night;
For in your eyes they sit, and there
Fixed become, as in their sphere.

Small is the worth
Of beauty from the light retired ;

Bid her come forth,
Suffer herself to be desired,
And not blush so to be admired.

Then die! that she
The common fate of all things rare

May read in thee;
How small a part of time they share
That are so wondrous sweet and fair!

EDMUND WALLER,

Pill's with balte the gale signs

though the flowers have shark in death, So, when pleasure's dream is gone,

to memony hies in music's breath Iliparton tage

Thomas Moore

May 27.142.

SO

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JOHN ALDEN AND PRISCILLA. So I have come to you now, with an offer and

proffer of marriage (From “ The Courtship of Miles Standish.”)

Made by a good man and true, Miles Standish, O he entered the house; and the hum of

the Captain of Plymouth.” the wheel and the singing Suddenly ceased; for Priscilla, aroused by his step on the threshold,

Thus he delivered his message; the dexterous Rose as he entered, and gave him her hand, in

writer of letters, signal of welcome,

Did not embellish the theme, or array it in Saying, “I knew it was you, when I heard beautiful phrases, your step in the passage;

But came straight to the point, and blurted it For I was thinking of you, as I sat there sing

out like a school-boy; ing and spinning."

Even the Captain himself could hardly have Awkward and dumb with delight, that a

said it more bluntly. thought of him had been mingled

Mute with amazement and sorrow, Priscilla, Thus in the sacred psalm, that came from the the Puritan maiden, heart of the maiden,

Looked into Alden's face, her eyes dilated Silent before her he stood, and gave her the

with wonder, flowers for an answer.

Feeling his words like a blow, that stunned

her and rendered her speechless ;

Till at length she exclaimed, interrupting the Then they sat down and talked of the birds

ominous silence, and the beautiful spring-time,

"If the great Captain of Plymouth is so very Talked of their friends at home, and the May eager to wed me, flower that sailed on the morrow.

Why does he not come himself, and take the ** I have been thinking all day,” said gently If I am not worth the wooing, I surely am not

trouble to woo me? the Puritan maiden, “ Dreaming all night, and thinking all day, of

worth the winning.” the hedge-rows of England; They are in blossom now, and the country is Then John Alden began explaining and all like a garden;

smoothing the matterThinking of lanes and fields, and the song of Urging the suit of his friend, explaining, perthe lark and the linnet;

suading, expanding ; Seeing the village street, and familiar faces But, as he warmed and glowed, in his simple of neighbors

and eloquent language, Going about as of old, and stopping to gossip Quite forgetful of self, and full of the praise together;

of his rival, And, at the end of the street, the village Archly the maiden smiled, and with eyes runchurch with the ivy

ning over with laughter, Climbing the old gray tower, and the quiet Said, in a tremulous voice, “Why don't you graves in the churchyard.

speak for yourself, John ?" Kind are the people I live with, and dear to

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. me my religion ; Still my heart is so sad, that I wish myself

back in old England. You will say it is wrong, but I cannot help it;

STANZA: THE CHOICE. I almost Wish myself back in Old England, I feel so S when a lady, walking Flora's bower, lonely and wretched.

Picks here a pink, and here a gilly-flowTbereupon answered the youth: “Indeed, I er, do not condemn you;

Now plucks a violet from her purple bed, Stouter hearts than a woman's have quailed in And then a primrose, the year's maidenhead, this terrible winter.

There nips the briar, here the lover's pansy, Yours is tender and trusting, and needs a Shifting her dainty pleasures with her fancy, stronger to lean on;

This on her arms, and that she lists to wear

A

Upon the borders of her curious hair; She plucks, and bosoms in her lily breast. At length a rose-bud, passing all the rest,

FRANCIS QUARLES.

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AT THE CHURCH GATE.
LTHOUGH I enter not,

She comes; she's here; she's past;
Yet round about the spot

May heaven go with her!
Ofttimes I hover;
And near the sacred gate

Kneel undisturbed, fair saint!
With longing eyes I wait,

Pour out your praise or plaint
Expectant of her.

Meekly and duly;

I will not enter there,
The minster bell tolls out

To sully your pure prayer
Above the city's rout

With thoughts unruly.
And noise and humming;
They've hushed the minster bell;

But suffer me to pace
The organ 'gins to swell;

Round the forbidden place,
She's coming, she's coming!

Lingering a minute,
My lady comes at last,

Like outcast spirits who wait,
Timid and stepping fast,

And see through heaven's gate
And hastening hither;

Angels within it.
With modest eyes downcast

WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.

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