love poems for her

ACT. I. S CEN. V.

Mis. Hear you no News yet Captains from the City?
Phil. They slight your Majesty by their delaies,
Thinking to weary your desire by lingring,
Mis. I dealt too mildly with 'em, in that I
Did offer to request without the Sword:
They shall know what 'tis to delude him that
Ne'r threatned twice; whose anger then is base
When it admits that respite, as to give
A second warning.

ACT . I. S CEN. IV.

Philostratus, Callimachus, Prusias.

Phil. Now who would live in peace good Prusias ? tell me,
Is it not better far to seize your Prey
In open field, than to stand whimpring at
The Chamber door, like to the little Spaniel?
Cal. Or scratch upon the Wainscot like my Ladies
Black Cat to gain Admittance?
Phil. Here you do not
With folded Arms embrace your self, because
You can't embrace your Mistris — —

ACT . I. S CEN. III.

To them Nicias .

— — — Now Fellow!
Nic. I hope your mind is chang'd, you will not lay
Such an Injunction on your willing Servant:
You punish, not command; what could you worse,
If you did hate me?
Pyl. Dare you question what
We please to will? or carry't, or you come not
So near hereafter, as to be commanded
Again by Pyle .
Nic. 'Twere t'incense the Tyrant,

ACT I. S CEN . II.

Pyle, Elpidia.

Pyl. Three sent besides? have I so many Rivalls?
I'd thought I'd been the Phaenix of the Citty:
But men have left to judge, not I to be
What I was ever, fair, and smooth, and handsome;
Look we not bright Elpidia , and Maiestique?
Elpi. Truly sweet Mistris — —
Pyl. How, you paltry Baggage?
Sweet Mistris? when we only want the Tyrants
Approving to be Queen? call us your Grace.

ACT. I. SCEN. I.

Scedasus, Patacion, Epigenes, Terpander,
Eudemus, Nicias with the Pictures of three
Byzantine Virgins.

Sced. But there's no other way.
Epi. They must be sent
Or we must die.
Pat. Wee're no such subtile feeders
As to make Meals on Air, sup on a Blast,
And think a fresh Gale Second Course.
Terp. No verily; Let's see thy Pictures, Nicias . I would the Tyrant had a mind to all the

Your capital was always small,
Yet in the mart you gave
The thousand pounds that made your all
To buy a pretty slave.

For love that price was high to pay
E'en with a bulging purse.
What's that? You're not in love you say —
That makes the matter worse.

I OFFERED love — you ask for awe;
Then I'll obey you and revere;
But don't forget the ancient saw
That love will never dwell with fear.

You ask the reasons why I never do
Kiss you?
Fair locks I love and you have none,
That's one.
Your face is of the beetroot's hue,
That's two.
Your one blear eye can hardly see,
That's three.
That act all nature might appal,

W HENE'ER you plead in court or read your verses,
Watch Selius fishing for an invitation.
With wild applause your words he intersperses,
" Perfect," " Hear, hear," " 'Tis said to admiration,"
" Bravo," " How grand the style!" " How good the matter!" —
Then you invite him, just to stop his chatter.

To feasts and theatres you love to go
With men of rank and, when you chance to meet.
To lounge with them about a portico
Or street.

They let you bathe and dine with them, but what
Your dullard pride will never comprehend
Is that you are their mountebank, and not