But each shade and each conscious bow'r when I find,
Where I once have been happy, and she has been kind;
When I see the print left of her shape on the green,
And imagine the pleasure may yet come again;
O then 'tis I think that no joys are above
The pleasures of love.
While alone to myself I repeat all her charms,
She I love may be lock'd in another man's arms,
She may laugh at my cares, and so false she may be,
To say all the kind things she before said to me:
O then, 'tis then, that I think there's no hell
Like loving too well.
But when I consider the truth of her heart,
Such an innocent passion, so kind without art;
I fear I have wronged her, and hope she may be
So full of true love to be jealous of me:
And then 'tis I think that no joys are above
The pleasures of love.[1]
That he understood foreign affairs better than all his councils and counsellors put together was the repeated remark of the Lord Keeper Guildford. In his exile he had acquired either a personal acquaintance with most of the eminent statesmen in Europe, or else from such as could instruct him he had received their characters:—and this knowledge, the Lord Keeper would continue, he perpetually improved by conversing with men of quality and ambassadors, whom he would sift, and by what he obtained from
- ↑ From Choice Ayres, Songs, &c., 1676, folio; see also Roger North's Memoirs of Musick, 4to. 1846, p. 104; Hawkins's History of Music, v. 447; and Park's ed. of Walpole's Royal and Noble Authors, i. 154.
