Melting joys about her move, Killing pleasures, wounding blisses; She can dress her eyes in love, And her lips can arm with kisses. Angels listen when she speaks, She's my delight, all mankind wonder; But my jealous heart would break Should we live one day asunder. John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester. CONSTANCY. I cannot change, as others do, Though you unjustly scorn; Since the poor swain that sighs for you, For you alone was born. No, Phillis, no, your heart to move A surer way I'll try; And to revenge my slighted love, Will still love on and die. When, killed with grief, Amyntas lies, And you to mind shall call The sighs that now unpitied rise, The tears that vainly fall; That welcome hour that ends his smart, Will then begin your pain; For such a faithful tender heart Can never break in vain. John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester. MAN AND WOMAN. Man is for woman made, And woman made for man; As the spur is for the jade, As the scabbard for the blade, As for liquor is the can, So man's for woman made, And woman made for man. As the sceptre to be sway'd, As to night the serenade, As for pudding is the pan, As to cool us is the fan, So man's for woman made, And woman made for man. Peter Antony Motteux. ACCEPT MY HEART. Accept, my love, as true a heart As ever lover gave: 'Tis free, it vows, from any art, And proud to be your slave. Then take it kindly, as 'twas meant, And let the giver live, Who, with it, would the world have sent Had it been his to give. And, that Dorinda may not fear I e'er will prove untrue, My vow shall, ending with the year, With it begin anew. Matthew Prior. AN ANGELIC WOMAN. Not an angel dwells above Half so fair as her I love. Heaven knows how she'll receive me: If she smiles I'm blest indeed; If she frowns I'm quickly freed; Heaven knows she ne'er can grieve me. None can love her more than I, Yet she ne'er shall make me die, If my flame can never warm her: Lasting beauty I'll adore, I shall never love her more, Cruelty will so deform her. Sir John Vanbrugh. I SMILE AT LOVE. I smile at Love, and all its arts, The charming Cynthia cried: Take heed, for Love has piercing darts, A wounded swain replied. Once free and blest as you are now, I trifled with his charms, I pointed at his little bow, And sported with his arms, Till urged too far, Revenge! he cries, A fatal shaft he drew, It took its passage through your eyes, And to my heart it flew.