Selections from the Works of Sir John Suckling. To which is prefixed a life of the author and critical remarks on his writings and genius by the Rev. Alfred Suckling

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Longman & Company, 1836 - 411 pages

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Page 203 - 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!
Page 68 - Out upon it, I have loved Three whole days together! And am like to love three more, If it prove fair weather. Time shall moult away his wings Ere he shall discover In the whole wide world again Such a constant lover.
Page 81 - PRYTHEE send me back my heart, Since I cannot have thine ; For if from yours you will not part, Why then should'st thou have mine ? Yet now I think on't, let It lie, To find it were in vain, For thou'st a thief in either eye Would steal it back again.
Page 203 - 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...
Page 88 - twas not that, but 'twas thought that, his grace Considered, he was well he had a cup-bearer's place. Will. Davenant, ashamed of a foolish mischance, That he had got lately travelling in France, Modestly hoped the handsomeness of 's muse Might any deformity about him excuse. And Surely the company would have been content, If they could have found any precedent; But in all their records either in verse or prose, There was not one laureate without a nose.
Page 92 - Of thee (kind boy) I ask no red and white, To make up my delight; No odd, becoming graces, Black eyes, or little know-not-whats, in faces : Make me but mad enough, give me good store Of love for her I court, I ask no more ; 'Tis love in love that makes the sport.
Page 75 - Her feet beneath her petticoat Like little mice stole in and out, As if they feared the light: But, oh ! she dances such a way— No sun upon an Easter day Is half so fine a sight.
Page 90 - He loved not the muses so well as his sport, And prized black eyes, or a lucky hit At bowls above all the trophies of wit; But Apollo was angry, and publicly said, 'Twere fit that a fine were set upon 's head.
Page 75 - Her lips were red, and one was thin Compared to that was next her chin (Some bee had stung it newly). But, Dick, her eyes so guard her face, I durst no more upon them gaze, Than on the sun in July.
Page 70 - If by this thou dost discover That thou art no perfect lover, And, desiring to love true, Thou dost begin to love anew, Know this, Thou lov'st amiss; And to love true, Thou must begin again, and love anew.

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