University of Virginia Library

Search this document 

collapse section
collapse section
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
collapse section
collapse section
collapse section
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
collapse section
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
collapse section
 
collapse section
 
 
 
Upon Belinda, who, gathering a Rose, prick'd her Finger.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
collapse section
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Upon Belinda, who, gathering a Rose, prick'd her Finger.

When you, bright Nymph, design'd to crop a Rose,
To kiss your sweeter Hand, the Buds arose:
Your heedless Hand a pointed Prickle prest,
Stung with the Wound, you sunk into my Breast.
If so small Wounds can cause so great a Smart,
Think, O Belinda, on my bleeding Heart!