Love , powerful love, impatient of controul,
Softens the heart, and animates the soul;
That love refin'd that can the magic boast
Of warmth unchang'd amidst eternal frost:
Witness, fair Ajutt, pride of icy plains,
Where darkness half the year triumphant reigns,
And faithful gen'rous Anningait, the youth,
By love taught softness, by that softness truth:
Both flourish'd sweet on Greenland's rigid coast,
Pure as its snow, and constant as its frost;
No polish'd arts of specious vice they knew,
The youth was noble, and the maid was true;

None takes such low security
Though he is poor. My praise is just.
For Cordus, tho' he cannot see,
Accepts his lady-love on trust.

Dear Quintus, why resent my joke?
The one-eyed hag of whom I spoke
Was Thais, and your lady's name
Hermione — 'tis not the same
Or similar. Had I said Thais,
Whereas your lady-love was Lais,
You might complain of that; beside
You swear your love is not one-eyed!
I called her lover " Quintus" — true:
Let's change to " Sextus" — will that do?

Do you design that verse of mine
Should bring repute to you,
Or did you deem by such a scheme
To be a poet too?

Well, I suppose, the pearly rows
'Twixt Aegle's lips that glow,
Though purchased bone, she calls her own,
And thinks them truly so.

Lycoris, too, of mulberry hue
Believes — delusion fond —
The powder puff is quite enough
To make a lovely blonde.

Must we regard you as a bard?
Why, then I will admit
Your head has shocks of lovely locks
Without a hair on it.

You bid me say what kind of maid
Can draw me or repel?
My friend, I hate a forward jade
But loathe a prude as well.
I love the mean: extremes are vain
And never bring me joy;
Love long denied is grief and pain,
While easy favours cloy.

Dear Fronto, famed alike in peace and war,
If you would learn what my chief wishes are,
Know that I crave some acres few to till.
And live at ease as careless as I will.
Why should I always trudge the stony street
And go each morn some haughty lord to greet,
When all the country's spoils are mine to get
Caught in the meshes of a hunting-net?
When I with line could snare the leaping trout
And from the hive press golden honey out,
While Joan my humble board with eggs supplies
Boiled on a fire whose logs she never buys?

When Porcia heard how Brutus fell
And strove to join her lord,
'Twas vain, for they who loved her well
Withheld from her the sword.
" Your witless care," she cried, " hath sought
My purpose to deny;
I deemed my father's deed had taught
That all who will may die,
Though troublous knaves their wish withstand
And every weapon hide."
Deep in her throat a flaming brand
She thrust forthwith and died.

I DO not love you, Dr Fell.
The reason why I cannot tell.
But this at least I know full well.
I do not love you, Dr Fell.

M ARONILLA , Gemellus doth adore thee,
With instant prayers and vows doth oft implore thee,
And many a lover's gift he lays before thee;
Since neither beauty, grace, nor charm attend thee
What makes him seek thee so, and thus commend thee?
A churchyard cough that promises to end thee.

Although Verona hears, I dare to say
That Stella's lovely cushat soars above
The pretty sparrow of Catullus' love.
Aye, lesser is thy singer's vaunted lay
As is the sparrow lesser than the dove.