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4 Then be not coy, but use your time,

And, whilst ye may, go marry;
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.

CHERRY-RIPE.

Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry;
Full and fair ones; come, and buy!
If so be you ask me where
They do grow? I answer, there,
Where my Julia's lips do smile;
There's the land or cherry isle,
Whose plantations fully show,
All the year, where cherries grow.

THE KISS: A DIALOGUE.

1. Among thy fancies, tell me this:
What is the thing we call a kiss?—
2. I shall resolve ye what it is:

It is a creature, born and bred
Between the lips, all cherry red;

By love and warm desires 'tis fed;

Chor. And makes more soft the bridal bed:

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2. It is an active flame, that flies

First to the babies of the eyes,

And charms them there with lullabies; Chor. And stills the bride too when she cries:

2. Then to the chin, the cheek, the ear, It frisks and flies; now here, now there; 'Tis now far off, and then 'tis near; Chor.-And here, and there, and everywhere.

1. Has it a speaking virtue ?-2. Yes. 1. How speaks it, say ?-2. Do you but this, Part your join'd lips, then speaks your kiss; Chor. And this love's sweetest language is.

1. Has it a body ?-2. Aye, and wings,
With thousand rare encolourings;
And, as it flies, it gently sings,
Chor.-Love honey yields, but never stings.

TO DAFFODILS.

1 Fair daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon;

As yet the early-rising sun
Has not attain'd his noon:
Stay, stay

Until the hast'ning day

Has run

But to the even-song;

And, having pray'd together, we
Will go with you along!

2 We have short time to stay, as you;
We have as short a spring,

As quick a growth to meet decay,
As you, or anything:

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TO PRIMROSES.

1 Why do ye weep, sweet babes? Can tears Speak grief in you,

Who are but born

Just as the modest morn

Teem'd her refreshing dew?

Alas! you have not known that shower
That mars a flower;

Nor felt the unkind

Breath of a blasting wind;
Nor are ye worn with years;
Or warp'd, as we,

Who think it strange to see

Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young,
To speak by tears before ye have a tongue.

2 Speak, whimpering younglings; and make known The reason why

Ye droop and weep.

Is it for want of sleep,

Or childish lullaby?

Or that ye have not seen as yet
The violet?

Or brought a kiss

From that sweetheart to this?

No, no; this sorrow shown
By your tears shed,

Would have this lecture read,

'That things of greatest, so of meanest worth, Conceived with grief are, and with tears brought

forth.'

TO BLOSSOMS.

1 Fair pledges of a fruitful tree,
Why do ye fall so fast?

Your date is not so past,
But you may stay yet here awhile
To blush and gently smile
And go at last.

2 What, were ye born to be
An hour or half's delight,
And so to bid good night?
'Tis pity Nature brought ye forth
Merely to show your worth,
And lose you quite.

3 But you are lovely leaves, where we
May read how soon things have

Their end, though ne'er so brave:
And after they have shown their pride,
Like you, awhile, they glide
Into the grave.

OBERON'S PALACE.

Thus to a grove

Sometimes devoted unto love,
Tinsell'd with twilight, he and they,
Led by the shine of snails, a way
Beat with their num'rous feet, which by
Many a neat perplexity,

Many a turn, and many a cross

Tract, they redeem a bank of moss,
Spongy and swelling, and far more
Soft than the finest Lemster ore,

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Mildly disparkling like those fires
Which break from the enjewell'd tires
Of curious brides, or like those mites
Of candied dew in moony nights;
Upon this convex all the flowers
Nature begets by the sun and showers,
Are to a wild digestion brought;
As if Love's sampler here was wrought
Or Cytherea's ceston, which

All with temptation doth bewitch.
Sweet airs move here, and more divine
Made by the breath of great-eyed kine
Who, as they low, impearl with milk
The four-leaved grass, or moss-like silk.
The breath of monkeys, met to mix
With musk-flies, are the aromatics

Which cense this arch; and here and there,
And further off, and everywhere
Throughout that brave mosaic yard,
Those picks or diamonds in the card,
With pips of hearts, of club, and spade,
Are here most neatly interlaid.
Many a counter, many a die,
Half-rotten and without an eye,
Lies hereabout; and for to pave
The excellency of this cave,

Squirrels' and children's teeth, late shed,

Are neatly here inchequered

With brownest toadstones, and the gum
That shines upon the bluer plumb.

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Wise hand enchasing here those warts
Which we to others from ourselves
Sell, and brought hither by the elves.

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