| The most elegant and witty epigrams of Sir Iohn Harrington | |
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24 To his wife, of Poppea Sabynas faire heyre.
Mall
once I did, but doe not now enuy
Fierce Neroe's blisse, of faire Poppeas rayes,
That in his lap, koming her locks would lye,
Each hayre of hers, a verse of his did praise.
But that prais'd beauty, fruitlesse spent her daies.
No yong Augustus euer cal'd him Dad.
No small Poppeas with their prettie playes,
And melt their hearts, and melting make them glad:
But thou in this, do'st passe his faire Sabyna,
That hast seuen times beene succor'd by Lucina.
Thy wombe in branches seau'n, it selfe displayes.
Then leaue I Nero, with Poppeas heyres:
To ioy, and to inioy thee, and thine heyres.
| The most elegant and witty epigrams of Sir Iohn Harrington | |
|