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Lastly, take o, in re stands all my rest:
Middleton's Family of Love,
Ibid. 1. In mine eye, he's a most delicate youth ; But in my heart, a thing that it would bleed for. 2. Either your eye is blinded, or your rememb’rance Broken : Call to mind wherefore you came hither. 1. I do my lord, for love, and I am in profoundly. 2. You trifle sure ; do you long for unripe Fruit? 'Twill breed diseases in you. 1. Nothing but worms in my belly, and there's A feed to expel them ; in mellow falling Fruit I find no relish: 2. 'Tis true, the youngest vines Yields the most clusters ; but the old ever The sweetest grapes. 1. I can taste of both, but with the old I Am the sooneft cloyd: The green keep still an Edge on appetite.
Middleton's Any thing for a quiet Life.
Love is a god,
Cupid's Whirligig. Who most doth love, must seem most to neglect it ; For those that few most love, are least respected.
John Cook's Green's Tu quoque.
For love, good mistress, is much like to wax,
Webster and Rowley's Thracian Wonder. Love is á law, a discord of such force, That, 'twixt our sense and reason makes divorce : Love's a desire that to obtain betime, We lose an age of years, pluck'd from our prime: Love is a thing, to which we foon consent ; As soon refuse, and sooner far repent. Then what must women be, that are the cause That love hath life ? that lovers feel such laws ? They're like the winds upon Lapanthaes shore, That still are changing. Oh then love no more! A woman's love, is like the Syrian flow'r, That buds, and spreads, and withers in an hour.
Webster and Rowley's Thracian Wonder. Such is the pofie, love composes ; *A ftinging nettle mix'd with roses.
Broren's Pastorals. Loyes fire is of a nature, which by turns, Confumes in presence, and in absence burns.
Ibid But where's the fortress that can love debar? The forces to oppose when he makes war? The watch which he shall never find asleep? The spy' that shall disclose his councils deep? That fort, that force, that watch, that spy would be A lasting stop to a fifth emperie : But we as well may keep the heat from fire, As sever hearts, whom love hath made entire,
Ibid. Love is a region full of fires ; And burning with extreme desires :
An object seeks, of which poffeft,
Sir John Beaumont.
Swetnam the Woman Hater. They swell with love, that are with Valour fillid; And Venus' doves may in a head-piece build.
Aleyn's Crefcey. Let us love temp'rately, things violent last not; And too much dotage rather argues folly, Than true affection.
Maflinger's Duke of Milan. All men that are in love deal with the devil ; Only with this difference, he that dotes Upon a woman, is absolutely poffeft; And he that loves the least, is haunted With a familiar.
Shirleys Sifters. Thus can the flame of heav'n with subtile art, Leave the skin whole, yet quite consume the heart,
Ibid. Love is above alllaw of nature, blood ; Not what men call, but what that bids, is good.
Shirley's Maid's Revenge. Love, is, but a ftraggling from our reason.
Shirley's Witty Fair One.
Love like to fin, inveterate, is strong ;
Shirley's Witty Fair One. Panthers may hide their heads, not change the skin : And love pent ne'er so close, yet will be seen.
John Ford's Lover's Melancholy. Love's measure is extreme ; the comfort, pain : The life unrest ; and the reward disdain.
John Ford's 'Tis pity she's a Whore. Loves measure is the mean ; sweet his annoys ; His pleasures life ; and his reward all joys.
Ibid. Love, I see you will not entertain Those that desire to live amidst your train : For death and you have got a trick, to fly From such poor wretches, as do wish you nigh: You scorn a yielding slave, and plainly shew it; Those that contemn your power you make to know it.
Randolph. For they may fay, that say thou blind can'st be, Eagles want eyes, and only moles can see.
Ibid. Mark, how the bashful morn in vain
Courts the amorous marigold,
Yet she refuses to unfold :
If thy sighs and tears discover
The just reward of a bold lover :
Young men fly, when beauty darts
Glapthorne's Albertus Wallenftein. For though we care not for the lover, yét We love the passion: Though we fcorn the off'ring, We grieve to see it thrown away ; and envy If consecrated to another. Woman Hath no revenge 'gainst th' injury of custom, Which gives man superiority, but thus, To fool him to subjection.
Habbington's Queen of Arragona 'Tis, a pure love, Unmix'd as is the foul. The world perhaps May judge a kingdom bath enamour'd me; And that your titles dress you forth, to raise My appetite up higher, Pardon, love, If I grow envious ev'n of your fortune ; And that I'm forc'd to wish, you had been daughter Of some poor mountain cottager, without All dow'r but your own beauty : Then I might Have shew'd a flame untainted with ambition, And courted you. But now the circumstance Of greatness, seems to challenge more, than I Have pow'r to give : and working up my love, I serve my fortune.
Habbington's Queen of Arragon, Love's kingdom is founded Upon a parity ; lord, and subject,