| New Epigrams, and a Satyre | |
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9. To Venus Shrine.
Faire Goddesse Beauty, fairest of them all,
To whom the Shepheard gaue the golden Ball,
We Virgins (loaden with that name) salute
Thy Shrine, our selues to Lust we prostitute;
Our Beauties are the fewell, our Desire
The Bellowes, that doe blow thine Incense fire.
O! knew they, Flowers once pluckt can grow no more,
They would not be so lauish of their store.
And yet (I guesse) tis done to this intent,
They may the longer time haue to repent.
| New Epigrams, and a Satyre | |
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