And drink your fill of it!
Glory and worship be
To you, sweet Maids, thrice three,
Who still inspire me;
And teach me how to sing
Unto the lyric string,
My measures ravishing!
Then, while I sing your praise,
My priest-hood crown with bays
Green to the end of days!
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Has with the raceOf saints?In endless mirth,She thinks not onWhat’s said or doneIn earth:She sees no tears,Or any toneOf thy deep groanShe hears;Nor does she mind,Or think on’t now,That ever thouWast kind:–But changed above,She likes not there,As she did here,Thy love.–Forbear, therefore,And lull asleepThy woes, and weepNo more.
THE APPARITION OF HIS, MISTRESS,
DESUNT NONNULLA–Come then, and like two doves with silvery wings,Let our souls fly to th’ shades, wherever springsSit smiling in the meads; where balm and oil,Roses and cassia, crown the untill’d soil;Where no disease reigns, or infection comesTo blast the air, but amber-gris and gums.This, that, and ev’ry thicket doth transpireMore sweet than storax from…
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Ask me why I send to youThis Primrose, thus bepearl’d with dew?I will whisper to your ears,–The sweets of love are mixt with tears.Ask me why this flower does showSo yellow-green, and sickly too?Ask me why the stalk is weakAnd bending, yet it doth not break?I will answer,–these discoverWhat fainting hopes are in a lover.
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Be she likewise one of thoseThat an acre hath of noseBe her teeth ill hung or setAnd her grinders black as jetBe her cheeks so shallow tooAs to show her tongue wag throughHath she thin hair, hath she noneShe’s to me a paragon.