Would ye oil of blossoms get? Take it from my Julia's sweat: Oil of lilies and of spike? From her moisture take the like. Let her breathe, or let her blow, All rich spices thence will flow.
Tell, if thou canst, and truly, whence doth come This camphire, storax, spikenard, galbanum, These musks, these ambers, and those other smells Sweet as the Vestry of the Oracles....
Tell if thou canst, and truly, whence doth come This camphor, storax, spikenard, galbanum; These musks, these ambers, and those other smells, Sweet as the vestry of the oracles....
When I thy singing next shall hear, I'll wish I might turn all to ear, To drink-in notes and numbers, such As blessed souls can't hear too much Then melted down, there let me lie...
So smooth, so sweet, so silv'ry is thy voice, As, could they hear, the damn'd would make no noise, But listen to thee, walking in thy chamber, Melting melodious words to lutes of amber.
Apollo sings, his harp resounds: give room, For now behold the golden pomp is come, Thy pomp of plays which thousands come to see With admiration both of them and thee....
Prue, my dearest maid, is sick, Almost to be lunatic: 'sculapius! come and bring Means for her recovering; And a gallant cock shall be Offer'd up by her to thee.
When thou dost play and sweetly sing - Whether it be the voice or string Or both of them that do agree Thus to entrance and ravish me - This, this I know, I'm oft struck mute, And die away upon thy lute.
Scobble for whoredom whips his wife; and cries He'll slit her nose; but blubb'ring, she replies, Good sir, make no more cuts i' th' outward skin, One slit's enough to let adultry in.
Shark, when he goes to any public feast, Eats to one's thinking, of all there, the least. What saves the master of the house thereby When if the servants search, they may descry...
Last night thou didst invite me home to eat; And showed me there much plate, but little meat. Prithee, when next thou do'st invite, bar state, And give me meat, or give me else thy plate.
Sibb, when she saw her face how hard it was, For anger spat on thee, her looking-glass: But weep not, crystal; for the same was meant Not unto thee, but that thou didst present.
With paste of almonds, Syb her hands doth scour; Then gives it to the children to devour. In cream she bathes her thighs, more soft than silk; Then to the poor she freely gives the milk.
When some shall say, Fair once my Silvia was, Thou wilt complain, False now's thy looking-glass, Which renders that quite tarnished which was green, And priceless now what peerless once had been....