One fate surprised them, and one grave received them.
My father with his dying breath bequeathed
Her to my love; my mother, as she lay
Languishing by him, called me to her side,
Took me in her fainting arms, wept, and embraced me;
Then pressed me close, and, as she observed my tears,
Kissed them away. Said she, Chamont, my son,
By this, and all the love I ever showed thee,
Be careful of Monimia, watch her youth,
Let not her wants betray her to dishonor;
Perhaps kind heaven may raise some friend; then sighed,
Kissed me again; so blessed us, and expired.
OTWAY: _Orphan_.
FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH.
’Tis she,—far off, through moonlight dim,
He knew his own betrothèd bride,
She who would rather die with him
Than live to gain the world beside!
Her arms are round her lover now,
His livid cheek to hers she presses,
And dips, to bind his burning brow,
In the cool lake her loosened tresses.
...
One struggle, and his pain is past,
Her lover is no longer living!
One kiss the maiden gives, one last,
Long kiss, which she expires in giving!
MOORE: _Lalla Rookh_.
THE LAST OBSERVANCE.
Oh, may I view thee with life’s parting ray,
And thy dear hand with dying ardor press;
Sure thou wilt weep, and on thy lover’s clay
With breaking heart print many a tender kiss.
...
On my cold lips thy kisses thou wouldst fix,
While flowing tears with thy dear kisses mix.
TIBULLUS: _Elegy I._
THE EXILES.
With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes,
And blest the cot where every pleasure rose;
And kissed her thoughtless babes with many a tear,
And clasped them close, in sorrow doubly dear.
GOLDSMITH: _Deserted Village_.
“ORATE HIC PRO ME.”
They went with speed to the dungeon-door;
The air was chill and damp;
And the pale girl lay on the marble floor,
Beside the dying lamp;
They kissed her lips, they called her name,
No kiss returned, no answer came.
Motionless, lifeless, there she lay,
Like a statue rent from its base away.
PRAED.
JEPHTHAH’S DAUGHTER.
It comforts me in this one thought to dwell,
That I subdued me to my father’s will;
Because the kiss he gave me, ere I fell,
Sweetens the spirit still.
TENNYSON: _Dream of Fair Women_.
THE MAY QUEEN.
I have been wild and wayward, but you’ll forgive me now;
You’ll kiss me, my own mother, and forgive me ere I go;
Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief be wild;
You should not fret for me, mother, you have another child.
TENNYSON.
ENOCH ARDEN.
My children, too! must I not speak to these?
They know me not; I should betray myself.
Never; no father’s kiss for me,—the girl
So like her mother, and the boy, my son.
TENNYSON.
ŒNONE.
Oh, mother, hear me yet before I die!
Hath he not sworn his love a thousand times,
In this green valley, under this green hill,
Ev’n on this hand, and sitting on this stone?
Sealed it with kisses? watered it with tears?
TENNYSON.
QUARREL AND RECONCILIATION.
As through the land at eve we went,
And plucked the ripened ears,
We fell out, my wife and I,
Oh, we fell out, I know not why,
And kissed again with tears.
For when we came where lies the child
We lost in other years,
There above the little grave,
Oh, there above the little grave
We kissed again with tears.
TENNYSON: _Princess_.
EVANGELINE.
Vainly he strove to whisper her name, for the accents unuttered
Died on his lips, and their motion revealed what his tongue would have
spoken.
Vainly he strove to rise; and Evangeline, kneeling beside him,
Kissed his dying lips, and laid his head on her bosom.
LONGFELLOW.
OVER THE STARRY WAY.
Gone to sleep with the tender smile
Froze on her silent lips
By the farewell kiss of the angel Death,
Like the last fair bud of a faded wreath
Whose bloom the white frost nips.
DEATH OF AN INFANT.
Oh, fairest flower, no sooner blown but blasted,
Soft silken primrose fading timelessly,
Summer’s chief honor, if thou hadst outlasted
Bleak Winter’s force that made thy blossom dry;
For he being amorous on that lovely dye
That did thy cheek envermeil, thought to kiss,
But killed, alas, and then bewailed his fatal bliss.
MILTON.
ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND’S CHILD.
If Death
More near approaches, meditates, and clasps
Even now some dearer, more reluctant hand,
God, strengthen Thou my faith, that I may see
That ’tis Thine angel, who, with loving haste,
Unto the service of the inner shrine
Doth waken Thy beloved with a kiss.
LOWELL.
HIGHLAND MARY.
Oh, pale, pale now, those rosy lips,
I aft hae kissed sae fondly,
And closed for aye the sparkling glance
That dwelt on me sae kindly!
BURNS.
CONSUMPTION.
Oh, then, when the spirit is taking wing,
How fondly her thoughts to her dear one cling,
As if she would blend her soul with his
In a deep and long-imprinted kiss!
PERCIVAL.
BARBARA.
Oh, that pallid face!
Those sweet, earnest eyes of grace!
When last I saw them, dearest, ’twas in another place;
You came running forth to meet me, with my love-gift on your wrist,
And a cursed river killed thee, aided by a murderous mist.
Oh, a purple mark of agony was on the mouth I kissed
When last I saw thee, Barbara!
ALEXANDER SMITH.
“I WANT TO FIND MY PAPA.”
A lady while walking in a city street met a little girl between two and
three years old, evidently lost, and crying bitterly. Taking her by the
hand, the lady asked her where she was going.
“I am going down town to find my papa,” was the reply, between sobs, of
the child.
“What is your papa’s name?” asked the lady.
“His name is papa,” replied the innocent little thing.
“But what is his other name?” queried the lady; “what does your mamma
call him?”
“She calls him papa,” persisted the baby.
The lady then took the little one by the hand and led her along, saying,—
“You had better come with me; I guess you came from this way.”
“Yes, but I don’t want to go back; I want to find my papa,” replied the
little girl, crying afresh as if her heart would break.
“What do you want of your papa?” asked the lady.
“I want to kiss him.”
Just then a sister of the child came along looking for her and led her
away. From subsequent inquiries, it appeared that the little one’s
papa, whom she was so earnestly in search of, had recently died. In her
lonesomeness and love for him, she tired of waiting for him to come
home, and had gone to find him and greet him with the accustomed kiss.
THE PENALTY OF HARSHNESS.
It seems a hard and cruel thing to make the affections of a child its
means of punishment for slight juvenile offences. A sad occurrence may be
quoted as evidence in point.
A little girl, who, although an affectionate little creature as ever
lived, was very volatile and light-hearted, could not always _remember_
to mind her mother. At the close of a winter day she had gone into the
street, contrary to her mother’s injunction, to play with one of her
little companions; when she came in, and was prepared to go to bed, she
approached her mother for her good-night kiss.
“I cannot kiss you to-night, Mary,” said the mother; “you have been
a very naughty little girl, and have disobeyed me. I cannot kiss you
to-night.”
The little girl, her face streaming with tears, again begged her mother
to kiss her; but she was a “strong-minded woman,” and was inexorable.
It was a sad lesson that she learned, for on that very night the child
died of croup. She had asked her mother, the last thing as she went up to
her little bed, if she would kiss her in the morning; but in the morning
her innocent lips were cold.
VIRGINIA.
Macaulay, in his “Lays of Ancient. Rome,” includes the tragic incident
which led to the downfall of the execrable government of Appius
Claudius, who had made an attempt upon the chastity of a beautiful young
girl of humble birth. The decemvir, unable to succeed by bribes and
solicitations, resorted to an outrageous act of tyranny. A vile dependant
of the Claudian house laid claim to the damsel as his slave. The cause
was brought before the tribunal of Appius. The wicked magistrate, in
defiance of the clearest proofs, gave judgment for the claimant; but the
girl’s father, a brave soldier, saved her from servitude and dishonor by
stabbing her to the heart in the sight of the whole forum. Virginius, in
the course of a thrilling appeal to the people, says,—
“Have ye not graceful ladies, whose spotless lineage springs
From consuls, and high pontiffs, and ancient Alban kings?
Ladies who deign not on our paths to set their tender feet,
Who from their cars look down with scorn upon the wondering street;
Who in Corinthian mirrors their own proud smiles behold,
And breathe of Capuan odors and shine with Spanish gold?
Then leave the poor Plebeian his single tie to life,—
The sweet, sweet love of daughter, of sister, and of wife,
The gentle speech, the balm for all that his vexed soul endures,
The kiss in which he half forgets even such a yoke as yours;
Still let the maiden’s beauty swell the father’s breast with pride,
Still let the bridegroom’s arms enfold an unpolluted bride;
Spare us the inexpiable wrong, the unutterable shame,
That turns the coward’s heart to steel, the sluggard’s blood to flame,
Lest, when our latest hope is fled, ye taste of our despair,
And learn by proof, in some wild hour, how much the wretched dare.”
Having led the devoted maiden to the spot for sacrifice, he pours out in
passionate language the wealth of his affection, closing thus:
“With all his wit, he little deems that, spurned, betrayed, bereft,
Thy father hath in his despair one fearful refuge left,
He little deems that in this hand I clutch what still can save
Thy gentle youth from taunts and blows, the portion of the slave;
Yea, and from nameless evil that passeth taunt and blow,—
Foul outrage which thou knowest not, which thou shalt never know.
Then clasp me round the neck once more, and give me one more kiss,
And now, mine own dear little girl, there is no way but this.’
With that he lifted high the steel and smote her in the side,
And in her blood she sank to earth, and with one sob she died.”
THE KISS IN EPIGRAM.
CASUISTRY.
When Sarah Jane, the moral miss,
Declares ’tis very wrong to kiss,
I’ll bet a shilling I see through it:
The damsel, fairly understood,
Feels just as any Christian should,—
She’d rather _suffer_ wrong than _do it_.
SAXE.
THE DIFFERENCE.
“I never give a kiss,” says Prue,
“To naughty man, for I abhor it.”
She will not _give_ a kiss, ’tis true:
She’ll _take_ one, though, and thank you for it.[30]
MOORE.
MODESTY.
“Kiss me, dear maid, to seal the vow
Of love that you have made.”
“I have no _right_ to kiss you now,”
The modest maiden said.
“If you can find it in your heart
My first wish to refuse,
Perhaps ’tis best that we should part
Ere we our freedom lose.”
“Although to kiss _you_ I demur,
Yet please to recollect
That if you choose to kiss _me_, sir,
Of course, I—can’t object.”
FOOLISH ROBIN.
“Come kiss me,” said Robin. I gently said, “No!
For my mother forbade me to play with men so.”
Abashed by my answer, he glided away,
Though my looks very plainly advised him to stay.
Silly swain, not at all recollecting—not he—
That _his_ mother ne’er said that he must not kiss _me_.
THE PRINTER’S KISSES.
_Print_ on my lips another kiss,
The picture of thy glowing passion;
Nay, this won’t do—nor this—nor this—
But now—Ah, that’s a _proof impression_!
But yet, methinks, it might be mended—
Oh, yes, I see it in those eyes;
Our lips again together blended
Will make the _impression_ a REVISE.
TULIPS AND ROSES.
My Rosa from the latticed grove
Brought me a sweet bouquet of posies,
And asked, as round my neck she clung,
If _tulips_ I preferred to _roses_.
“I cannot tell, sweet wife,” I sighed,
“But kiss me ere I see the posies:”
She did. “Oh, I prefer,” I cried,
“Your _two lips_ to a dozen roses.”
SEALING AN OATH.
“Do you,” said Fanny, t’other day,
“In earnest love me as you say?
Or are those tender words applied
Alike to fifty girls beside?”
“Dear, cruel girl,” cried I, “forbear;
For by those eyes—those _lips_—I swear!”
She stopped me as the oath I took,
And cried, “You’ve sworn—_now kiss the book_.”
MOUSTACHES.
Kate hates moustaches; so much hair
Makes every man look like a bear;
But Nellie, whom no thought could fetter,
Pouts out, “The more like bears the better,
Because” (her pretty shoulders shrugging)
“Bears are such glorious chaps for hugging.”
THE ANCIENT MAIDEN’S LAMENT.
I have a mouth for kisses,
No one to give or to take;
I have a heart in my bosom
Beating for nobody’s sake.
THE STAKES.
The following playful lines of Strode first appeared in a little
volume entitled “New Court Songs and Poems,” printed in 1672, and were
reproduced in Dryden’s “Miscellany,” 1716:
My love and I for kisses played:
She would hold stakes; I was content;
But when I won, she would be paid;
With that, I asked her what she meant.
“Nay, since I see,” quoth she, “your wrangling vain,
Take your own kisses; give me mine again.”[31]
DECLINING A KISS.
Said the master to Mary, a sweet-lipped lass,
As she stood in her place at the head of her class,
“You can decline ‘a kiss,’ no doubt?”
“I can,” she replied, with a blush and a pout,
And a glance to the master’s heart there shot,
“But, sir, if you please, I would rather not.”
EARLIEST RECOLLECTIONS.
I recollect a nurse called Ann,
Who carried me about the grass,
And one fine day a nice young man
Came up and kissed the pretty lass.
She did not make the least objection!
Thinks I, “Ah!
When I can talk, I’ll tell mamma”—
And that’s my earliest recollection.
FREDERICK LOCKER.
THE DISAPPOINTMENT.
Old Birch, who taught a village school,
Wedded a maid of homespun habit:
He was as stubborn as a mule,
And she was playful as a rabbit.
Poor Kate had scarce become a wife,
Before her husband sought to make her
The pink of country polished life,
And prim and formal as a Quaker.
One day the tutor went abroad,
And simple Katy sadly missed him:
When he returned, behind her lord
She slyly stole, and fondly kissed him.
The husband’s anger rose, and red
And white his face alternate grew.
“Less freedom, ma’am!”[32] Kate sighed, and said,
“_Oh, dear! I didn’t know ’twas you!_”
NON-COMPUTATION.
Old Jealousy would count our blisses;
Then give to me a thousand kisses,
Quick kissing me—quick kissing thee—
Oh, quick, oh, quick, the jade to trick!
O Ada, kiss so many kisses,
She, counting ever, ever misses.
LESSING.
BIANCA’S DREAM.
Meanwhile, remindful of the convent bars,
Bianca did not watch these signs in vain,
But turned to Julio at the dark eclipse,
With words like verbal kisses on her lips.
He took the hint full speedily, and, backed
By love, and night, and the occasion’s meetness,
Bestowed a something on her cheek that smacked
(Though quite in silence) of ambrosial sweetness,—
That made her think all other kisses lacked
Till then, but what she knew not, of completeness:
Being used but sisterly salutes to feel,
Insipid things—like sandwiches of veal.
HOOD.
THE HONEY-MOON.
Oh, happy, happy, thrice happy state,
When such a bright planet governs the fate
Of a pair of united lovers!
’Tis theirs, in spite of the serpent’s hiss,
To enjoy the pure primeval kiss
With as much of the old original bliss
As mortality ever recovers.
HOOD.
NO DOUBT OF IT.
She felt my lips’ impassioned touch,—
’Twas the first time I dared so much;
And yet she chid not,
But whispered o’er my burning brow,
“Oh! do you doubt I love you now?”
Sweet soul! I did not.
A REBUS.
“What is a rebus?” I asked of dear Mary,
As close by my side the dear maiden was seated:
I saw her eye droop and her countenance vary
As she said in reply, “’Tis a kiss, sir, repeated.”
THE DIFFERENCE.
My brother is shy,—I am not shy at all;
So, when there’s a mistletoe hung in our hall,
_He_ manages always to miss all the kisses,
While _I_, on the contrary, kiss all the misses.
STOLEN KISSES.
Kiss her gently, but be sly;
Kiss her when there’s no one by;
Steal your kiss, for then ’tis meetest—
Stolen kisses are the sweetest.
THE REASON WHY.
An impertinent youth at Saratoga amused himself by exhibiting the
following lines to some of the ladies at a hotel:
Men scorn to kiss among themselves,
And scarce would kiss a brother;
But women want to kiss so bad,
They kiss and kiss each other.
Whereupon a young lady pencilled this retort on the back of an envelope,
and left it for the fool’s instruction:
Men do not kiss among themselves,
And it’s well that they refrain:
The bitter dose would vex them so,
They would never kiss again.
As sometimes on poor woman’s lip
Is applied this nauseous lotion,
We _have_ to kiss among ourselves
As a counteracting potion.
THE INVENTOR OF KISSING.
When we dwell on the lips of the girl we adore,
What pleasure in Nature is missing?
May his soul be in heaven—he deserves it, I’m sure—
Who was first the inventor of kissing.
Master Adam, I verily think, was the man
Whose discovery can ne’er be surpast;
Then, since the sweet game with creation began,
To the end of the world may it last.
WOLCOT.
FORGIVENESS.
Forgive thy foes; nor that alone;
Their evil deeds with good repay;
Fill those with joy who leave thee none,
And kiss the hand upraised to slay.
So does the fragrant sandal bow,
In meek forgiveness, to its doom,
And o’er the axe at every blow
Sheds in abundance rich perfume.
THE RIGHTS OF MEN.
While others, Delia, use their pen
To vindicate the rights of men,
Let us, more wise, to bliss attend:
Be ours the rights which they defend.
Those eyes that glow with love’s own fire,
And what they speak so well inspire;
That melting hand, that heaving breast,
That rises only to be prest;
That ivory neck, those lips of bliss
Which half invite the offered kiss;
These, these—and Love approves the plan—
I deem the dearest rights of man.
TO A PAINTED LADY IN THE OLDEN TIME.
Is’t for a grace, or is’t some dislike,
Where others give ye lippe you give the cheeke;
Some houlde it for a pride of your behaviour,
But I do rather count it as a favour.
Wherefore to shew my kindnesse and my love,
I leave both lippes and cheekes, and kisse your glove.
Now what’s the cause? To make you full acquainted,
Your glove’s perfumed, your lippes and cheekes bepainted.
THE SOURCE ALIKE OF LIFE AND DEATH.
Nature that gave the bee so feate a grace
To find honey of so wondrous fashion,
Hath taught the spyder out of the same place
To fetch poyson by strange alteration,
Though this be strange, it is a stranger case
With one kiss, by a secret operation,
Both these at once in those your lips to finde,
In change whereof I leave my heart behinde.
SIR THOMAS WYATT.
ON A LADY STUNG BY A BEE.
To heal the wound the bee had made
Upon my Delia’s face,
Its honey to the wound she laid,
And bid me kiss the place.
Pleased, I obeyed, and from the wound
Sucked both the sweet and smart:
The honey on my lips I found,
The sting went through my heart.
THE KISS IN METAPHOR.
MORNING SONG.
Speed, zephyr! kiss each opening flower,
Its fragrant spirit make thine own,
Then wing thy way to Rosa’s bower,’
Ere her light sleep is flown.
There, o’er her downy pillow fly,
Wake the sweet maid to life and day:
Breathe on her balmy lip a sigh,
And o’er her bosom play.
MRS. HEMANS.
SUNRISE ON THE HILLS.
I stood upon the hills, when heaven’s wide arch
Was glorious with the sun’s returning march,
And woods were brightened, and soft gales
Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales.
LONGFELLOW.
SPRING.
No icy fetters hold the stream;
The sun’s bright beam
Comes dancing o’er it to my feet;
The violets that skirt the bank
Bend down to thank
The laughing stream with kisses sweet.
SPRING FLOWERS
Spring has come with a smile of blessing,
Kissing the earth with her soft warm breath,
Till it blushes in flowers at her gentle caressing,
And wakes from the winter’s dream of death.
THE VIOLETS.
Close by the roots of moss-grown stumps,—
The sweetest and the first to blow,—
The blue-eyed violets, in clumps,
Kiss one another as they grow;
And, kissing one another, blend
Their dewy tears upon the earth,
And purest fragrance upward send,
Unconscious types of modest worth!
SPRING SONG.
When the soft winds blow,
And kiss away the snow,—
When the bluebirds sing,
For the dear warm spring,—
Then we’ll go a-Maying,
Through the meadows straying.
ROSE TERRY.
AUTUMN.
Morn on the mountain, like a summer bird,
Lifts up her purple wing, and in the vales
The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer,
Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life
Within the solemn woods of ash deep-crimsoned,
And silver beech, and maple yellow-leaved.
LONGFELLOW.
THE EVENING WIND.
The faint old man shall lean his silver head
To feel thee; thou shalt kiss the child asleep,
And dry the moistened curls that overspread
His temples, while his breathing grows more deep.
BRYANT.
THE CRIMSON SUNSET.
Fall on her, tell her dying glow,
How I am dreaming of her here,
And kiss for me her snowy brow;
Love, I am weak with hope and fear,
Thinking of thee.
HONE.
THE MOON-BEAM.
The silver light, so pale and faint,
Showed many a prophet, and many a saint,
Whose image on the glass was dyed;
Full in the midst, his cross of red
Triumphant Michael brandishèd,
And trampled the Apostate’s pride.
The moon-beam kissed the holy pane,
And threw on the pavement a bloody stain.
SCOTT.
THE LIGHT FROM THE TOMB.
No earthly flame blazed e’er so bright:
It shone like heaven’s own blessed light,
And, issuing from the tomb,
Showed the monk’s cowl, and visage pale,
Danced on the dark-browed warrior’s mail,
And kissed his waving plume.
SCOTT.
TIME AND TIDE.
The bridegroom sea
Is toying with the shore, his wedded bride,
And in the fulness of his marriage joy
He decorates her tawny brow with shells,
Retires a pace to see how fair she looks,
Then, proud, runs up to kiss her.
THE LIGHT-HOUSE.
It sees the ocean to its bosom clasp
The rocks and sea-sand with the kiss of peace;
It sees the wild winds lift it in their grasp,
And hold it up, and shake it like a fleece.
LONGFELLOW.
THE GROWING CORN.
Then, like a column of Corinthian mould,
The stalk struts upward and the leaves unfold;
The bushy branches all the ridges fill,
Entwine their arms, and kiss from hill to hill.
BARLOW.
FROM THE PSALMS OF DAVID.
Mercy and truth are met together; righteousness and peace have kissed
each other.—lxxxv. 10.
PARAPHRASE.
In the book of Deuteronomy, ch. xxxiv. v. 5, occurs the sentence, “So
Moses, the servant of the Lord, died there in the land of Moab, according
to the word of the Lord.” The literal rendering of the last words is, “by
the _mouth_ of the Lord,” or, as the Hebrews express it, “with a kiss
from the mouth of God.” It is thus paraphrased by an old English poet:
Softly his fainting head he lay
Upon his Maker’s breast;
His Maker kissed his soul away,
And laid his flesh to rest.
TO CELIA.
Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
And I’ll not look for wine.
BEN JONSON.
FROM ANACREON.
The shadowy grove,
Where, in the tempting guise of love,
Reclining sleeps some witching maid,
Whose sunny charms, but half displayed,
Blush through the bower, that, closely twined,
Excludes the kisses of the wind.
_Ode 59._
LOVE’S PHILOSOPHY.
The fountains mingle with the river,
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of heaven mix forever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by a law divine
In one another’s being mingle—
Why not I with thine?
See the mountains kiss high heaven,
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister flower would be forgiven
If it disdained its brother:
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea;
What are all these kissings worth,
If thou kiss not me?
SHELLEY.
FROM PLATO.
Kissing Helena, together
With my kiss, my soul beside it
Came to my lips, and there I kept it,—
For the poor thing had wandered thither,
To follow where the kiss should guide it;
Oh, cruel I, to intercept it!
SHELLEY.
FROM “THE LOVER’S CREED.”
I believe if I should die,
And you should kiss my eyelids when I lie
Cold, dead, and dumb to all the world contains,
The folded orbs would open at your breath,
And, from its exile in the Isles of Death,
Life would come gladly back along my veins.
NATURE’S MINISTRATIONS.
Nature’s voice
Bids thee hie fieldward and rejoice;
She calls thee from unhallowed mirth
To walk with beauty o’er the earth;
Proudly she calls thee forth, and now
Prints blandest kisses on thy brow;
On lip, on cheek, on bosom bare,
She pours the balmy morning air.
MOTHERWELL.
“GENTLEST OF MY FRIENDS.”
The branches of the trees
Bend down thy touch to meet,
The clover-blossoms in the grass
Rise up to kiss thy feet.
LONGFELLOW.
THE RELEASED CAPTIVE.
The hour which back to summer’s light
Calls the worn captive, with the gentle kiss
Of winds, and gush of waters, and the sight
Of the green earth.
MRS. HEMANS.
FROM “PHILASTER.”
Let me love lightning, let me be embraced
And kissed by scorpions, or adore the eyes
Of basilisks, rather than trust the tongues
Of hell-bred women.
BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.
FROM “THE TRAITOR.”
Does not
That death’s head look most temptingly? the worms
Have kissed the lips off.
SHIRLEY.
FROM “THE DYING SOLDIER.”