II.

THOMAS TUsser.

THE OLD STORY OVER AGAIN.

WHEN I was a maid,

Nor of lovers afraid,

My mother cried, "Girl, never listen to men."
Her lectures were long,

But I thought her quite wrong,

And said I, "Mother, whom should I listen to, then?"

Now teaching, in turn,

What I never could learn,

I find, like my mother, my lessons all vain; Men ever deceive,

Silly maidens believe,

And still 'tis the old story over again.

So humbly they woo,

What can poor maidens do,

But keep them alive when they swear they must die?

Ah! who can forbear,

As they weep in despair,

Their crocodile tears in compassion to dry?

Yet, wedded at last,

When the honeymoon's past,

The lovers forsake us, the husbands remain ; Our vanity's check'd,

And we ne'er can expect

They will tell us the old story over again.

JAMES KENNY.

"WITH every pleasing, every prudent part, Say, what can Chloe want?"-She wants a heart. ALEXANDER POPE.

MY LOVE AND MY HEART. Oн, the days were ever shiny When I ran to meet my love; When I press'd her hand so tiny

Through her tiny tiny glove. Was I very deeply smitten?

Oh, I loved like anything! But my love she is a kitten,

And my heart's a ball of string. She was pleasingly poetic,

And she loved my little rhymes, For our tastes were sympathetic, In the old and happy times. Oh, the ballads I have written, And have taught my love to sing!

But my love she is a kitten,

And my heart's a ball of string! Would she listen to my offer,

On my knees I would impart
A sincere and ready proffer

Of my hand and of my heart.
And below her dainty mitten
I would fix a wedding ring—
But my love she is a kitten,

And my heart's a ball of string!
Take a warning, happy lover,

SONG.

WHY SO pale and wan, fond lover?

Prithee, why so pale?

Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail?

Prithee, why so pale?

Why so dull and mute, young sinner?
Prithee, why so mute?

Will, when speaking well can't win her,
Saying nothing do't?

Prithee, why so mute?

Quit, quit for shame! this will not move,
This cannot take her;

If of herself she will not love,
Nothing can make her—

The devil take her!

But, rather, pray God that we may

To them be comfortable;

Which sometyme proveth such as he loveth, Yf they be charytable.

For syth men wolde that women sholde

Be meke to them each one;

Moche more ought they to God obey,
And serve but hym alone.

The Not-Browne Mayd.

LEAN not to Love's enchanting snare ; His songs, his words, his looks beware. MARK AKEnside.

A LOVER is, the more he's brave,
To his mistress, but the more a slave;
And whatsoever she commands,
Becomes a favour from her hands;
Which he's obliged t' obey, and must,
Whether it be unjust or just.

SAMUEL BUTLER.

Hudibras.

FOR 'tis in vain to think to guess

At women by appearances;

That paint and patch their imperfections Of intellectual complexions;

And daub their tempers o'er with washes
As artificial as their faces;

Wear, under vizard masks, their talents
And mother-wits, before their gallants;
Until they're hamper'd in the noose,
Too fast to dream of breaking loose.
SAMUEL BUtler.
Hudibras.

MEN call you fair, and you do credit it,
For that yourself ye daily such do see;
But the true fair, that is the gentle wit,

And virtuous mind, is much more prais'd of me : For all the rest, however fair it be,

Shall turn to nought and lose that glorious hue; But only that is permanent and free

From frail corruption, that doth flesh ensue. That is true beauty: that doth argue you

To be divine, and born of heavenly seed; Deriv'd from that fair Spirit, from whom all true

And perfect beauty did at first proceed; He only fair, and what he fair hath made; All other fair, like flowers, untimely fade. EDMUND Spenser.

REASON masters every sense,
And her virtues grace her birth :
Lovely as all excellence,

Modest in her most of mirth :
Likelihood enough to prove
Only worth could kindle love.

W. BROWNE.

I WOULD give up my bachelor life,
Could I meet with a girl to adore me.
With riches-a home-and a wife-
What a life would be open before me!
My bliss would be triply secure,

And my future unclouded and sunny;
She'd love me for love, I am sure,
Or-if not-she could love me for money!
H. S. LEIGH.

Carols of Cockayne. (Chatto and Windus.)

UNFADING BEAUTY.
HEE that loves a rosie cheeke,

Or a corall lip admires,
Or from star-like eyes doth seeke
Fuell to maintaine his fires,
As old time makes these decay,
So his flames must waste away.
But a smooth and stedfast mind,
Gentle thoughts and calme desires,
Hearts with equal love combin'd,

Kindle never-dying fires:
Where these are not I despise
Lovely cheekes, or lips, or eyes.

THOMAS CAREW.

I HAVE heard of reasons manifold Why Love must needs be blind, But this the best of all I hold

His eyes are in his mind.

What outward form and feature are
He guesseth but in part;
But what within is good and fair
He seeth with the heart.

S. T. COLERIDGE,

'Tis not the lily brow I prize,
Nor roseate cheeks nor sunny eyes,
Enough of lilies and of roses!

A thousandfold more dear to me

The look that gentle Love discloses,That look which Love alone can see. S. T. COLERIDGE.

She's blooming as May,
Brisk, lively and gay,

The Graces play all round about her;
She's prudent and witty,
Sings wondrously pretty,
And there is no living without her.
MATTHEW PRIOR.

My reason bends to what thy eyes ordain ; For I was born to love, and thou to reign. MATTHEW PRIOK.

THE breezes love the blossom
That gives them sweet perfume;
The roses love the bosom

Whereon they blush and bloom.
The winter loves the robin,

Because it is so true,
And I love you, my darling,
Because because I do!

F. E. WEATHERLY. Dresden China. (Diprose and Bateman.)

Be it ryght, or wrong, these men among
On women do complayne;
Affyrmynge this, how that it is

A labour spent in vayne,

To love them wele; for never a dele

They love a man agayne :

For late a man do what he can,

Theyr favour to attayne,
Yet, yf a newe do them persue,

Theyr first true lover than

Laboureth for nought; for from her thought He is a banyshed man.

I say not nay, but that all day

It is bothe writ and sayd

That womans faith is, as who sayth,

All utterly decayd;

LOVE.

LOVE is a thing of frail and delicate growth;
Soon checked, soon fostered; feeble, and yet
strong:

It will endure much, suffer long, and bear
What would weigh down an angel's wing to earth,
And yet mount heavenward; but not the less,
It dieth of a word, a look, a thought;
And when it dies, it dies without a sign
To tell how fair it was in happier hours:
It leaves behind reproaches and regrets,
And bitterness within affection's well,
For which there is no healing.

L. E. LANDON.
Poetical Works. (Routledge.)

O GREAT mystery of love,

In which absorbed, loss, anguish, treason's self
Enlarges rapture-as a pebble dropt
In some full wine-cup over-brims the wine!
E. B. BROWNING.
Aurora Leigh. (Smith, Elder, and Co.)

LOVE'S ailing that love only cures.

ARTHUR W. E. O'SHAUGHNESSY. Lays of France. (Chatto and Windus.)

LOVE'S UNIVERSAL EMPIRE.
His realms are all the lands that lie
Beyond yon distant unknown sky-

Where only freed souls go unseen
To different dooms: his are the green
Of grass, the blue of seas, the red

Of passionate roses,-each frail life
Of rose and bird and slight thing rife

With sunlight is but sweetly led

By him to its sweet life and death.

But, more than all, while ye have breath And rosy relic of the rose

Born with you-men and women, lo Your rich eternal hearts that grow Like widening flowers that cannot close Their leaves-are Love's, to turn and use, And work upon as he may choose.

ARTHUR W. E. O'SHAUGHNESSY. Lay's of France. (Chatto and Windus.)