 | Poems, with a maske |  |
Vpon a Mole in Celia's bosome.
That lovely spot which thou dost see
In Celia's bosome was a Bee,
Who built her amorous spicy nest
I'th' Hyblas of her either breast,
But from close Ivory Hyves, she flew
To suck the Aromatick dew
Which from the neighbour vale distils,
Which parts those two twin-sister hils,
There feasting on Ambrosiall meat,
A rowling sile of Balmy sweat,
(As in soft murmurs before death,
Swan-like she sung) chokt up her breath.
So she in water did expire,
More precious than the Phænix fire;
In Celia's bosome was a Bee,
Who built her amorous spicy nest
I'th' Hyblas of her either breast,
But from close Ivory Hyves, she flew
To suck the Aromatick dew
Which from the neighbour vale distils,
Which parts those two twin-sister hils,
There feasting on Ambrosiall meat,
A rowling sile of Balmy sweat,
(As in soft murmurs before death,
Swan-like she sung) chokt up her breath.
So she in water did expire,
More precious than the Phænix fire;
163
Yet still her shaddow there remains
Confind to those Elizian plains;
With this strict Law, that who shall lay
His bold lips on that milky way,
The sweet, and smart, from thence shall bring
Of the Bees Honey, and her sting.
Confind to those Elizian plains;
With this strict Law, that who shall lay
His bold lips on that milky way,
The sweet, and smart, from thence shall bring
Of the Bees Honey, and her sting.
| Poems, with a maske | |