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Smiles, that can warm

The blood; yet teach a charm,
That chastity shall take no harm!

Blushes, that bin

The burnish of no sin;

Nor flames of aught too hot within!

Joys, that confess

Virtue their mistress;

And have no other head to dress! .

Days, that need borrow

No part of their 'Good morrow!'
From a forespent night of sorrow!

Life, that dares send

A challenge to his end;

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And, when it comes, say, 'Welcome, friend!'

SIDNEAN showers

Of sweet Discourse; whose powers

Can crown old Winter's head with flowers!

Soft, silken hours!

Open suns! shady bowers!

'Bove all, nothing within that lowers!

Whate'er delight

Can make Day's forehead bright;
Or give down to the wings of Night!

In her whole frame,

Have Nature all the name;

Art and Ornament, the shame!

Her flattery,

Picture and Poesy!

Her counsel, her own virtue be!

I wish her store

Of worth may leave her poor

Of Wishes! And I wish

Now, if Time knows

-No more!

That Her, whose radiant brows
Weave them a garland of my vows;

Her, whose just bays

My future hopes can raise

A trophy to her present praise;

Her, that dares be

What these Lines wish to see:

I seek no further! It is She!

'Tis She! and here,

Lo, I unclothe, and clear,
My Wishes' cloudy Character!

May she enjoy it,

Whose merit dares apply it;

But modesty dares still deny it!

Such worth as this is

Shall fix my flying Wishes;

And determine them to kisses!

Let her full glory,

My Fancies, fly before ye!

Be ye my fictions; but her story!

OUT OF THE ITALIAN.

To thy Lover,

Dear! discover

That sweet Blush of thine! that shameth (When those roses

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O, deliver

Love his quiver!

From thy Eyes, he shoots his arrows, Where APOLLO

Cannot follow,

Feathered with his mother's sparrows.

O, envy not

(That we die not!)

Those dear Lips! whose door encloses All the Graces

In their places!

Brother pearls; and sister roses! .

From these treasures

Of ripe pleasures;

One bright smile, to clear the weather! Earth and Heaven,

Thus made even,

Both will be good friends together.

The air does woo thee!

Winds cling to thee!

Might a word once fly from out thee, Storm and thunder

Would sit under;

And keep silence round about thee!

But if Nature's

Common creatures,

So dear glories dare not borrow;
Yet thy beauty

Owes a duty

To my loving, ling'ring sorrow!

When, to end me,

Death shall send me

All his terrors, to affright me:
Thine eyes' graces

Gild their faces;

And those terrors shall delight me!

When my dying

Life is flying,

Those sweet Airs, that often slew me, Shall revive me;

Or reprive me,

And to many deaths renew me!

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