Lest having that, or this,
I might grow proud the while.
No, no, the utmost share
Of my desire shall be,
Only to kiss that air
That lately kissed thee,
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Pardon my trespass, Silvia! I confess
None is discreet at all times; no, not JoveHimself, at one time, can be wise and love.
Some ask’d me where the Rubies grew:
But with my finger pointed toThe lips of Julia.Some ask’d how Pearls did grow, and where:Then spoke I to my girl,To part her lips, and shew me thereThe quarrelets of Pearl.
A crystal vial Cupid brought,
Of which who drank, he said, no thoughtOf Love he should admit.I, greedy of the prize, did drink,And emptied soon the glass;Which burnt me so, that I do thinkThe fire of hell it was.Give me my earthen cups again,The crystal I contemn,Which, though enchased with pearls, containA deadly draught in them.And thou, O Cupid! come…
Fly to my mistress, pretty pilfering bee,
When on her lip thou hast thy sweet dew placed,Mark if her tongue but slyly steal a taste;If so, we live; if not, with mournful hum,Toll forth my death; next, to my burial come.
WHAT conscience, say, is it in thee,
To take away that heart from me,And to retain thy own?For shame or pity now inclineTo play a loving part;Either to send me kindly thine,Or give me back my heart.Covet not both; but if thou dostResolve to part with neither,Why, yet to show that thou art just,Take me and mine together!