Duly, morn and evening, come,
And with flowers dress my tomb.
–Having promised, pay your debts
Maids, and here strew violets.
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Go, happy Rose, and interwove
Tell her, too, she must not beLonger flowing, longer free,That so oft has fetter’d me.Say, if she’s fretful, I have bandsOf pearl and gold, to bind her hands;Tell her, if she struggle still,I have myrtle rods at will,For to tame, though not to kill.Take thou my blessing thus, and goAnd tell her this,–but do not…
Display thy breasts, my Julia, there let me
Between whose glories, there my lips I’ll lay,Ravished in that fair Via Lactea.
Why I tie about thy wrist,
For what other reason is’t,But to shew thee how in partThou my pretty captive art?But thy bond-slave is my heart;‘Tis but silk that bindeth thee,Knap the thread and thou art free;But ’tis otherwise with me;I am bound, and fast bound so,That from thee I cannot go;If I could, I would not so.
See’st thou that cloud as silver clear,
‘Tis Julia’s bed, and she sleeps there.