To stifle Passion is no easy thing, A Heart in Love is always on the wing; The bold Betrayer flutters still, And fans the Breath prepar’d to tell: It melts the Tongue, and tunes the Throat, And moves the Lips to form the Note; And when the Speech is lost, It then sends out its Ghost, A little Sigh, To say we dye. ’Tis strange the Air that Cools, a Flame shou’d prove, But wonder not, it is the Air of Love. Yet Chloris I can make my Love look well, And cover bleeding Wounds I can’t conceal, My Words such artful Accents break, You think I rather act than speak: My Sighs enliven’d thro’ a Smile, Your unsuspecting Thoughts beguile; My Eyes are vary’d so, You can’t their Wishes know: And I’m so gay, You think I play. Happy Contrivance! such as can’t be priz’d, To Live in Love, and yet to Live disguis’d.
Thomas Parnell (1679-1718)