The spangling dew dredged o’er the grass shall be
Turn’d all to mell and manna there for thee.
Butter of amber, cream, and wine, and oil,
Shall run as rivers all throughout thy soil.
Would’st thou to sincere silver turn thy mould?
–Pray once, twice pray; and turn thy ground to gold.
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This day, my Julia, thou must make
Knead but the dough, and it will beTo paste of almonds turn’d by thee;Or kiss it thou but once or twice,And for the bride-cake there’ll be spice.
In numbers, and but these few,
Thou pretty Baby, born here,With sup’rabundant scorn here;Who for thy princely port here,Hadst for thy placeOf birth, a baseOut-stable for thy court here.Instead of neat enclosuresOf interwoven osiers;Instead of fragrant posiesOf daffadils and roses,Thy cradle, kingly stranger,As gospel tells,Was nothing else,But, here, a homely manger.But we with silks, not cruels,With sundry precious jewels,And lily-work will…
My soul would one day go and seek
A richess of those sweets she found,As in another Rosamond;But gathering roses as she was,Not knowing what would come to pass,it chanced a ringlet of her hairCaught my poor soul, as in a snare;Which ever since has been in thrall;–Yet freedom she enjoys withal.
TO PHILLIS, TO LOVE AND LIVE WITH HIM
The pleasures I’ll prepare for thee:What sweets the country can affordShall bless thy bed, and bless thy board.The soft sweet moss shall be thy bed,With crawling woodbine over-spread:By which the silver-shedding streamsShall gently melt thee into dreams.Thy clothing next, shall be a gownMade of the fleeces’ purest down.The tongues of kids shall be thy meat;Their…
You are a Tulip seen to-day,
That where you grew, scarce man can say.You are a lovely July-flower;Yet one rude wind, or ruffling shower,Will force you hence, and in an hour.You are a sparkling Rose i’th’ bud,Yet lost, ere that chaste flesh and bloodCan show where you or grew or stood.You are a full-spread fair-set Vine,And can with tendrils love entwine;Yet…
You have beheld a smiling rose
O’er it a cobweb-lawn:And here, you see, this lily shows,Tomb’d in a crystal stone,More fair in this transparent caseThan when it grew alone,And had but single grace.You see how cream but naked is,Nor dances in the eyeWithout a strawberry;Or some fine tincture, like to this,Which draws the sight thereto,More by that wantoning with it,Than when…