She comes like—oh, no simile Is precious, choice, or elegant enough To illustrate her descent; leap, heart, she comes,— She comes! smile, heaven, and, softest southern wind, Kiss her cheek gently with perfumèd breath. She comes; creation’s purity, admired, Adored, amazing rarity,—she comes! ... Mount, blood, soul, to my lips, taste Hebe’s cup; Stand firm on deck, when beauty’s close fight’s up. _Antonio and Mellida._ * * * * * If thou knew’st my happiness, Thou wouldst even grate away thy soul to dust In envy of my sweet beatitude: I cannot sleep for kisses; I cannot rest For ladies’ letters that importune me With such unusèd vehemence of love, Straight to solicit them, that— _Antonio and Mellida._ MASSINGER. May I taste The nectar of her lip? I do not give it The praise it merits: antiquity is too poor To help me with a simile to express her: Let me drink often from this living spring, To nourish new invention. _Emperor of the East._ * * * * * _Sforza._ Can any act, though ne’er so loose, that may Invite or heighten appetite, appear Immodest or uncomely? Do not move me; My passions to you are in extremes, And know no bounds:—come, kiss me. _Marcelia._ I obey you. _Sforza._ By all the joys of love, she does salute me As if I were her grandfather! What witch, With cursèd spells, hath quenched the amorous heat That lived upon these lips? Tell me, Marcelia, And truly tell me, is’t a fault of mine That hath begot this coldness? _Duke of Milan._ * * * * * _Francisco_. [_Preserving the dead body of Marcelia._] Your ladyship looks pale; But I, your doctor, have a ceruse for you. See, my Eugenia, how many faces That are adored in court, borrow these helps, [_Paints the cheeks._ And pass for excellence, when the better part Of them are like to this. Your mouth smells sour, too, But here is that shall take away the scent, A precious antidote old ladies use When they would kiss, knowing their gums are rotten. [_Paints the lips._ These hands, too, that disdained to take a touch From any lip whose owner writ not lord, Are now but as the coarsest earth. _Duke of Milan._ * * * * * _Lovell._ If then you may be won to make me happy, But join your lips to mine, and that shall be A solemn contract. _Lady Allworthy._ I were blind to my own good Should I refuse it [_kisses him_]; yet, my lord, receive me As such a one, the study of whose whole life Shall know no other object but to please you.