The air which thy smooth voice doth break,
Into my soul like lightning flies;
My life retires while thou dost speak,
And thy soft breath its room supplies.
Lost in this pleasing ecstasy,
I join my trembling lips to thine,
And back receive that life from thee
Which I so gladly did resign.
Forbear, Platonic fools! t' inquire
What numbers do the soul compose;
No harmony can life inspire
But that which from these accents flows.
Thomas Stanley.
LADIES' CONQUERING EYES.
Ladies, though to your conquering eyes
Love owes its chiefest victories,
And borrows those bright arms from you
With which he does the world subdue;
Yet you yourselves are not above
The empire nor the griefs of love.
Then rack not lovers with disdain,
Lest love on you revenge their pain:
You are not free because you're fair,
The Boy did not his mother spare:
Though beauty be a killing dart,
It is no armour for the heart.
George Etherege.