Ode IV: Affected Indifference. To The Same
I.
Yes: you contemn the perjur'd maid
Who all your favorite hopes betray'd:
Nor, though her heart should home return,
Her tuneful tongue it's falsehood mourn,
Her winning eyes your faith implore,
Would you her hand receive again,
Or once dissemble your disdain,
Or listen to the syren's theme,
Or stoop to love: since now esteem
And confidence, and friendship, is no more.
II.
Yet tell me, Phædria, tell me why,
When summoning your pride you try
To meet her looks with cool neglect,
Or cross her walk with slight respect,
(For so is falsehood best repaid)
Whence do your cheeks indignant glow?
Why is your struggling tongue so slow?
What means that darkness on your brow?
As if with all her broken vow
You meant the fair apostate to upbraid?
poem by Mark Akenside
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Related quotes
Always seek the refuge of the truth
You can neither touch it nor feel it,
Unless you peel the cover of falsehood off,
For 'falsehood is bound to perish by nature, '
And then you will get the truth with all its might,
Howsoever dark the night is,
A glow warm ends its monopoly,
Likewise a small truth challenges
The mighty empire of falsehood,
So never rely on falsehood,
And always seek the refuge of the truth.
poem by Mohammad Akmal Nazir
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Incorrect Speaking
Incorrectness in your speech
Carefully avoid, my Anna;
Study well the sense of each
Sentence, lest in any manner
It misrepresent the truth;
Veracity's the charm of youth.
You will not, I know, tell lies,
If you know what you are speaking.
Truth is shy, and from us flies;
Unless diligently seeking
Into every word we pry,
Falsehood will her place supply.
Falsehood is not shy, not she,-
Ever ready to take place of
Truth, too oft we Falsehood see,
Or at least some latent trace of
Falsehood, in the incorrect
Words of those who Truth respect.
poem by Charles Lamb
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Can a Maid That Is Well Bred
Can a maid that is well bred,
Hath a blush so lovely red,
Modest looks, wise, mild, discreet,
And a nature passing sweet,
Break her promise, untrue prove,
On a sudden change her love,
Or be won e'er to neglect
Him to whom she vow'd respect?
Such a maid, alas, I know.
Oh that weeds 'mongst corn should grow,
Or a rose should prickles have,
Wounding where she ought to save!
I that did her parts extol,
Will my lavish tongue control.
Outward parts do blind the eyes,
Gall in golden pills oft lies.
Reason wake, and sleep no more,
Land upon some safer shore;
Think on her and be afraid
Of a faithless fickle maid.
Of a faithless flckle maid
Thus true love is still betray'd.
Yet it is some ease to sing
That a maid is light of wing.
poem by Martin Peerson
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Sonnet XLIX: How Long
How long shall I in mine affliction mourn,
A burden to myself, distress'd in mind?
When shall my interdicted hopes return
From out despair wherein they live confin'd?
When shall her troubled brow charg'd with disdain
Reveal the treasure which her smiles impart?
When shall my faith the happiness attain
To break the ice that hath congeal'd her heart?
Unto herself, herself my love doth summon,
If love in her hath any power to move,
And let her tell me as she is a woman
Whether my faith hath not deserv'd her love.
I know she cannot but must needs confess it,
Yet deigns not with one simple sign t'express it.
poem by Samuel Daniel
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Husband And Wife
The world had chafed his spirit proud
By its wearing, crushing strife,
The censure of the thoughtless crowd
Had touched a blameless life;
Like the dove of old, from the water’s foam,
He wearily turned to the ark of home.
Hopes he had cherished with joyous heart,
Had toiled for many a day,
With body and spirit, and patient art,
Like mists had melted away;
And o’er day-dreams vanished, o’er fond hopes flown,
He sat him down to mourn alone.
No, not alone, for soft fingers rest
On his hot and aching brow,
Back the damp hair is tenderly pressed
While a sweet voice whispers low:
“Thy joys have I shared, O my husband true,
And shall I not share thy sorrows too?”
Vain task to resist the loving gaze
That so fondly meets his own,
Revealing a heart that cares for praise
From him and him alone;
And though censure and grief upon him pall,
Unto to her, at least, he is all in all.
What though false friends should turn aside,
Or chill with icy look;
What though he meet the pitying pride,
The proud heart ill can brook;
There are depths of love in one gentle heart,
Whose faith with death alone will part.
Aye! well may thy brow relax its gloom,
For a talisman hast thou
’Gainst hopes that are blighted in their bloom,
’Gainst scornful look or brow—
Her heart is a high and a holy throne
Where monarch supreme thou reignest alone.
Kindly return her tender gaze,
Press closely that little hand,
Whisper fond words and soothing praise—
They are ever at thy command;
It is all the harvest she asks to reap
In return for love as the ocean deep.
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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In Allusion To The French Song. N'entendez Vous Pas Ce Language
CHORUS.
THEN UNDERSTAND YOU NOT (FAIR CHOICE)
THIS LANGUAGE WITHOUT TONGUE OR VOICE?
I.
How often have my tears
Invaded your soft ears,
And dropp'd their silent chimes
A thousand thousand times?
Whilst echo did your eyes,
And sweetly sympathize;
But that the wary lid
Their sluces did forbid.
Cho. THEN UNDERSTAND YOU NOT (FAIR CHOICE)
THIS LANGUAGE WITHOUT TONGUE OR VOICE?
II.
My arms did plead my wound,
Each in the other bound;
Volleys of sighs did crowd,
And ring my griefs alowd;
Grones, like a canon-ball,
Batter'd the marble wall,
That the kind neighb'ring grove
Did mutiny for love.
Cho. THEN UNDERSTAND YOU NOT (FAIR CHOICE)
THIS LANGUAGE WITHOUT TONGUE OR VOICE?
III.
The rheth'rick of my hand
Woo'd you to understand;
Nay, in our silent walk
My very feet would talk;
My knees were eloquent,
And spake the love I meant;
But deaf unto that ayr,
They, bent, would fall in prayer.
Cho. YET UNDERSTAND YOU NOT (FAIR CHOICE)
THIS LANGUAGE WITHOUT TONGUE OR VOICE?
IV.
No? Know, then, I would melt
On every limb I felt,
And on each naked part
Spread my expanded heart,
That not a vein of thee
But should be fill'd with mee.
Whilst on thine own down, I
Would tumble, pant, and dye.
Cho. YOU UNDERSTAND NOT THIS (FAIR CHOICE);
THIS LANGUAGE WANTS BOTH TONGUE AND VOICE.
poem by Richard Lovelace
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Falsehood often lurks upon the tongue of him, who, by self-praise, seeks to enhance his value in the eyes of others.
quote by Arnold Bennett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For your love
‘For your love’
Open your eyes
Take in the sights
Not in the dark love
Keep on the lights love
That’s the sight of true love
Take it slow love
Take time to know love
Make my eyes glow love
Open your nostrils
Take in the smell
It’s there In the air
The high of true love
That’s the smell of true love
Take it slow love
Take time to know love
Make my eyes glow love
Open your ears
Listen to the sounds
The sounds of heartbeats pulsating
To the beat of pure love
That’s the sound of true love
Take it slow love
Take time to know love
Make my eyes glow love
Open your mouth
Stick out your tongue
Taste the sweet love
On my loving lips
That’s the taste of true love
Take it slow love
Take time to know love
Make my eyes glow love
Open your mouth
Speak to me about love
Give me the poetry
Of everlasting love
That’s the language of true love
Take it slow love
Take time to know love
Make my eyes glow love
Love can be a beautiful experience
Experience will let you know
That an experience lover
Will take it real slow
That’s the beauty of true love
Take it slow love
Take time to know love
My eyes glowing eternally
For your love
Michael Micmac Mccrory
poem by Michael Micmac Mccrory
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Tcepser (Unscramble The Word)
No-one fed me respect
It was all for me to predilect
And was the blood flowing in my veins
It is now a natural demenour with no strains
No-one taught me respect
It was all for me to adapt other than neglect
As a toddler
With all respect no-one taught me how to walk,
As teenager
No-one taught me how to make sense when I talk
I did not drink it from any dam
I did not digest it from any book
I did not observe it from any wise man
Because by birth I knew
That with esteem, comes self-esteem
That with respect, comes self-respect
No-one told me how to respect
poem by Anele ''The African Son'' kaPotelwa
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Sonnet XXII: Come Time
Come Time, the anchor-hold of my desire,
My last resort whereto my hopes appeal,
Cause once the date of her disdain t'expire;
Make her the sentence of her wrath repeal.
Rob her fair Brow, break in on Beauty, steal
Power from those eyes, which pity cannot spare;
Deal with those dainty cheeks as she doth deal
With this poor heart consumed with despair;
This heart made now the prospective of care,
By loving her, the cruelst Fair that lives,
The cruelst Fair that sees I pine for her,
And never mercy to my merit gives.
Let her not still triumph over the prize
Of mine affections taken by her eyes.
poem by Samuel Daniel
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Lucy and Colin
Of Leinster, fam'd for maidens fair,
Bright Lucy was the grace;
Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid stream
Reflect so fair a face,
Till luckless love and pining care
Impair'd her rosy hue,
Her coral lip, and damask cheek,
And eyes of glossy blue.
Oh! have you seen a lily pale,
When beating rains descend?
So droop'd the slow-consuming maid;
Her life now near its end.
By Lucy warn'd, of flattering swains
Take heed, ye easy fair!
Of vengeance due to broken vows,
Ye perjured swains, beware!
Three times, all in the dead of night,
A bell was heard to ring;
And at her window, shrieking thrice,
The raven flap'd his wing.
Too well the love-lorn maiden knew
That solemn boding sound;
And thus, in dying words, bespoke
The virgins weeping round.
'I hear a voice you cannot hear,
Which says, I must not stay;
I see a hand you cannot see,
Which beckons me away.
'By a false heart and broken vows,
In early youth, I die.
Am I to blame, because his bride
Is thrice as rich as I?
'Ah, Colin! give not her thy vows,
Vows due to me alone.
Nor tho, fond maid, receive his kiss,
Nor think him all thy own.
'To-morrow in the church to wed,
Impatient, both prepare;
But know, fond maid, and know, false man,
That Lucy will be there.
'Then bear my corse, ye comrades, bear,
The bridegroom blithe to meet;
He in his wedding-trim so gay,
I in my winding-sheet.'
She spoke, she died; - her corse was borne,
The bridegroom blithe to meet;
He in his wedding-trim so gay,
She in her winding-sheet.
Then what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts?
How were those nuptials kept?
The bride-men flock'd round Lucy dead,
And all the village wept.
Confusion, shame, remorse, despair,
At once his bosom swell;
The damps of death bedew'd his brow,
He shook, he groan'd, he fell.
From the vain bride (ah, bride no more!)
The varying crimson fled,
When, stretch'd before her rival's corse,
She saw her husband dead.
Then to his Lucy's new-made grave,
Convey'd by trembling swains,
One mould with her, beneath one sod,
For ever now remains.
Oft at their grave the constant hind
And plighted maid are seen;
With garlands gay and true-love knots
They deck the sacred green.
But, swain forsworn, whoe'er thou art,
This hallow'd spot forbear;
Remember Colin's dreadful fate,
And fear to meet him there.
poem by Thomas Tickell
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Sonnet 47: What, Have I thus Betray'd
What, have I thus betray'd my liberty?
Can those black beams such burning marks engrave In my free side? or am I born a slave,
Whose neck becomes such yoke of tyranny?
Or want I sense to feel my misery?
Or sprite, disdain of such disdain to have,
Who for long faith, though daily help I crave,
May get no alms but scorn of beggery?
Virtue awake, beauty but beauty is;
I may, I must, I can, I will, I do
Leave following that, which it is gain to miss.
Let her go! Soft, but here she comes. Go to,
Unkind, I love you not. Oh me, that eye
Doth make my heart give to my tongue the lie.
poem by Philip Sidney
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Ode III: To A Friend, Unsuccessful In Love
I.
Indeed, my Phædria, if to find
That wealth can female wishes gain
Had e'er disturb'd your thoughtful mind,
Or cost one serious moment's pain,
I should have said that all the rules,
You learn'd of moralists and schools,
Were very useless, very vain.
II.
Yet I perhaps mistake the case—
Say, though with this heroic air,
Like one that holds a nobler chace,
You try the tender loss to bear,
Does not your heart renounce your tongue?
Seems not my censure strangely wrong
To count it such a slight affair?
III.
When Hesper gilds the shaded sky,
Oft as you seek the well-known grove,
Methinks I see you cast your eye
Back to the morning scenes of love:
Each pleasing word you heard her say,
Her gentle look, her graceful way,
Again your struggling fancy move.
IV.
Then tell me, is your soul intire?
Does wisdom calmly hold her throne?
Then can you question each desire,
Bid this remain, and that begone?
No tear half-starting from your eye?
No kindling blush you know not why?
No stealing sigh, nor stifled groan?
Away with this unmanly mood!
V.
See where the hoary churl appears,
Whose hand hath seiz'd the favorite good
Which you reserv'd for happier years:
While, side by side, the blushing maid
Shrinks from his visage, half-afraid,
Spite of the sickly joy she wears.
VI.
Ye guardian powers of love and fame,
This chaste, harmonious pair behold;
And thus reward the generous flame
Of all who barter vows for gold.
O bloom of youth, o tender charms
Well-buried in a dotard's arms!
O equal price of beauty sold!
VII.
Cease then to gaze with looks of love:
Bid her adieu, the venal fair:
Unworthy she your bliss to prove;
Then wherefore should she prove your care?
No: lay your myrtle garland down;
And let awhile the willow's crown
With luckier omens bind your hair.
VIII.
O just escap'd the faithless main,
Though driven unwilling on the land;
To guide your favor'd steps again,
Behold your better genius stand:
Where truth revolves her page divine,
Where virtue leads to honor's shrine,
Behold, he lifts his awful hand.
IX.
Fix but on these your ruling aim,
And time, the sire of manly care,
Will fancy's dazzling colors tame
A soberer dress will beauty wear:
Then shall esteem by knowledge led
Inthrone within your heart and head
Some happier love, some truer fair.
poem by Mark Akenside
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Rusholme Ruffians
The last night of the fair
By the big wheel generator
A boy is stabbed
And his money is grabbed
And the air hangs heavy like a dulling wine
She is famous
She is funny
An engagement ring
Doesn't mean a thing
To a mind consumed by brass (money)
And though i walk home alone
Though i walk home alone
My faith in love is still devout
The last night of the fair
From a seat on a whirling waltzer
Her skirt ascends for a watching eye
It's a hideous trait (on her mother's side)
From a seat on a whirling waltzer
Her skirt ascends for a watching eye
A hideous trait (on her mother's side)
And though i walk home alone
I might walk home alone ...
... but my faith in love is still devout
Then someone falls in love
And someone's beaten up
Someone's beaten up
And the senses being dulled are mine
And someone falls in love
And someone's beaten up
And the senses being dulled are mine
And though i walk home alone
I might walk home alone ...
... but my faith in love is still devout
This is the last night of the fair
And the grease in the hair
Of a speedway operator
Is all a tremulous heart requires
A schoolgirl is denied
She says : "how quickly would i die
If i jumped from the top of the parachutes ?"
La ...
This is the last night of the fair
And the grease on the hair
Of a speedway operator
Is all a tremulous heart requires
A schoolgirl is denied
She says : "how quickly would i die
If i jumped from the top of the parachutes ?"
So ... scratch my name on your arm with a fountain pen
(this means you really love me)
Scratch my name on your arm with a fountain pen
(this means you really love me)
And though i walk home alone
Though i walk home alone
My faith in love is still devout
Though i walk home alone
My faith in love is still devout
Though i walk home alone
My faith in love is still devout
song performed by by Smiths
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Falsehood is the Devil's daughter, and speaks her father's tongue.
Songs Set To Music: 4. Set By Mr. Smith
Come, weep no more, for 'tis in vain;
Torment not thus your pretty heart;
Think, Flavia, we may meet again,
As well as that we now must part.
You sigh and weep; the gods neglect
That precious dew your eyes let fall;
Our joy and grief with like respect
They mind, and that is not at all.
We pray, in hopes they will be kind,
As if they did regard our state;
They hear, and the return we find
Is, that no prayers can alter Fate.
Then clear your brow, and look more gay;
Do not yourself to grief resign;
Who knows but that those powers may
The pair they now have parted join?
But since they have thus cruel been,
And could such constant lovers sever,
I dare not trust, lest, now they're in,
They should divide us two for ever.
Then, Flavia, come, and let us grieve,
Remembering, though, upon what score;
This our last parting look believe,
Believe we must embrace no more.
Yet should our sun shine out at last,
And Fortune, without more deceit,
Throw but one reconciling cast,
To make two wandering lovers meet;
How great then would our pleasures be
To find heaven kinder than believed,
And we, who had no hopes to see
Each other, to be thus deceived!
But say, should heaven bring no relief;
Suppose our sun should never rise;
Why, then, what's due to such a grief
We've paid already with our eyes.
poem by Matthew Prior
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Broken Face
I got a broken face
I got a
I got a broken face
Uh-hu, uh-hu, uh-hu, uh-hu, ooo
I got a broken face (3x)
There was this boy who had two
Children with his sisters
They were his daughters
They were his favourite lovers
I got no lips, I got no tongue
Whatever I say is only spit
I got no lips, I got no tongue
I got a broken face, uh-hu, uh-hu
I got a broken face
There was this man who snapped his poke
In little pieces
And then they drilled holes
And then they put em back in there
I got no lips, I got no tongue
Whatever I say is only spit
I got no lips, I got no tongue
I got a broken face
Uh-hu, uh-hu, uh-hu, uh-hu, ooo
I got a broken face
The little thing who does my laundry
Speaks no english
But if you saw her
Youd say isnt she lovely
I got no lips, I got no tongue
Whatever I say is only spit
I got no lips, I got no tongue
song performed by by Pixies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ode XV: On Domestic Manners (Unfinished)
I.
Meek honor, female shame,
O! whither, sweetest offspring of the sky,
From Albion dost thou fly;
Of Albion's daughters once the favorite fame?
O beauty's only friend,
Who giv'st her pleasing reverence to inspire;
Who selfish, bold desire
Dost to esteem and dear affection turn;
Alas, of thee forlorn
What joy, what praise, what hope can life pretend?
II.
Behold; our youths in vain
Concerning nuptial happiness inquire:
Our maids no more aspire
The arts of bashful Hymen to attain;
But with triumphant eyes
And cheeks impassive, as they move along,
Ask homage of the throng.
The lover swears that in a harlot's arms
Are found the self-same charms,
And worthless and deserted lives and dies.
III.
Behold; unbless'd at home,
The father of the cheerless household mourns:
The night in vain returns,
For love and glad content at distance roam;
While she, in whom his mind
Seeks refuge from the day's dull task of cares,
To meet him she prepares,
Through noise and spleen and all the gamester's art,
A listless, harrass'd heart,
Where not one tender thought can welcome find.
IV.
'Twas thus, along the shore
Of Thames, Britannia's guardian Genius heard,
From many a tongue preferr'd,
Of strife and grief the fond invective lore:
At which the queen divine
Indignant, with her adamantine spear
Like thunder sounding near,
Smote the red cross upon her silver shield,
And thus her wrath reveal'd.
(I watch'd her awful words and made them mine.)
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
poem by Mark Akenside
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Song.—Since thou wilt banish me
Since thou wilt banish me,
A long and last adieu!
This heart shall cherish thee,
Though ne'er those hopes renew
That once thy kindness bade me know,
And now thy falsehood turns to woe.
Since all the joy I've known,
And all the vows you made,
For ever now are flown,
As transient as a shade;
Oh! may thy fate as happy be
As that which seemed to shine on me.
Too fondly I relied,
Too easily believed;
Forgot how men have sigh'd,
And women have deceived—
I thought the world from falsehood free;
But, least of all, I doubted thee!
poem by Louisa Stuart Costello
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