To give Perenna’s lip a kiss,
And fan her wanton hair:
Bring me but one, I’ll promise thee,
Instead of common showers,
Thy wings shall be embalm’d by me,
And all beset with flowers.
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Good morrow to the day so fair;
Good morrow to mine own torn hair,Bedabbled with the dew.Good morning to this primrose too;Good morrow to each maid;That will with flowers the tomb bestrewWherein my Love is laid.Ah! woe is me, woe, woe is me,Alack and well-a-day!For pity, sir, find out that bee,Which bore my Love away.I’ll seek him in your bonnet brave;I’ll seek…
Whither dost thou hurry me,
This way, that way, that way, this,–Here and there a fresh Love is;That doth like me, this doth please;–Thus a thousand mistressesI have now: yet I alone,Having all, enjoy not one!
I ask’d thee oft what poets thou hast read,
–I shall, ere long, with green turfs cover’d be;Then sure thou’lt like, or thou wilt envy, me.
Ponder my words, if so that any be
Let what is graceless, discomposed, and rude,With sweetness, smoothness, softness be endued:Teach it to blush, to curtsey, lisp, and showDemure, but yet full of temptation, too.Numbers ne’er tickle, or but lightly plea{e,Unless they have some wanton carriages:–This if ye do, each piece will here be goodAnd graceful made by your neat sisterhood.
Wanton wenches do not bring
For my locks, girls, let ’em beGrey or white, all’s one to me.