But now our fears tempestuous grow And cast our hopes away; Whilst you, regardless of our woe, Sit careless at a play: Perhaps permit some happier man To kiss your hand, or flirt your fan-- With a fa, la, la, la, la. When any mournful tune you hear, That dies in every note As if it sigh'd with each man's care For being so remote, Think then how often love we've made To you, when all those tunes were play'd-- With a fa, la, la, la, la. In justice you cannot refuse To think of our distress, When we for hopes of honour lose Our certain happiness: All those designs are but to prove Ourselves more worthy of your love-- With a fa, la, la, la, la. And now we've told you all our loves, And likewise all our fears, In hopes this declaration moves Some pity for our tears: Let 's hear of no inconstancy-- We have too much of that at sea-- With a fa, la, la, la, la. Sir Charles Sedley. 1639-1701 409. To Chloris AH, Chloris! that I now could sit As unconcern'd as when Your infant beauty could beget No pleasure, nor no pain! When I the dawn used to admire, And praised the coming day, I little thought the growing fire Must take my rest away. Your charms in harmless childhood lay Like metals in the mine; Age from no face took more away Than youth conceal'd in thine. But as your charms insensibly To their perfection prest, Fond love as unperceived did fly, And in my bosom rest. My passion with your beauty grew, And Cupid at my heart, Still as his mother favour'd you, Threw a new flaming dart: Each gloried in their wanton part; To make a lover, he Employ'd the utmost of his art-- To make a beauty, she. Sir Charles Sedley. 1639-1701 410. To Celia NOT, Celia, that I juster am Or better than the rest! For I would change each hour, like them, Were not my heart at rest. But I am tied to very thee By every thought I have; Thy face I only care to see, Thy heart I only crave. All that in woman is adored In thy dear self I find-- For the whole sex can but afford The handsome and the kind. Why then should I seek further store, And still make love anew? When change itself can give no more, 'Tis easy to be true! Aphra Behn. 1640-1689 411. Song LOVE in fantastic triumph sate Whilst bleeding hearts around him flow'd, For whom fresh pains he did create And strange tyrannic power he show'd: From thy bright eyes he took his fires, Which round about in sport he hurl'd; But 'twas from mine he took desires Enough t' undo the amorous world. From me he took his sighs and tears, From thee his pride and cruelty; From me his languishments and fears, And every killing dart from thee. Thus thou and I the god have arm'd And set him up a deity; But my poor heart alone is harm'd, Whilst thine the victor is, and free! Aphra Behn. 1640-1689 412. The Libertine