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To my deare friend, the Spencer of this age.
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284

To my deare friend, the Spencer of this age.

Deare friend,
No more a Stranger now: I lately past
Thy curious Building; call'd; but then my haste
Deny'd me a full draught; I did but taste.
Thy Wine was rich and pleasing; did appeare
No common grape: My haste could not forbeare
A second sippe; I hung a Garland there:
Past on my way; I lasht through thick and thinne,
Dispatch'd my businesse, and return'd agen;
I call'd the second time; unhors'd, went in:
View'd every Room; each Room was beautifi'd
With new Invention, carv'd on every side,
To please the common and the curious ey'd:
View'd every Office; every Office lay
Like a rich Magazen; & did bewray
Thy Treasure, op'ned with thy golden key:
View'd every Orchyard; every Orchyard did
Appeare a Paradise, whose fruits were hid
(Perchance) with shadowing Leaves, but none forbid:
View'd every Plot; spent some delightfull houres.
In every Garden, full of new-born flowers,
Delicious banks, and delectable bowers.
Thus having stepp'd and travell'd every staire
Within, and tasted every fruit that's rare
Without; I made thy house my thorough-fare.
Then give me leave, rare Fletcher, (as before
I left a Garland at thy Gates) once more
To hang this Ivie at thy Postern-doore.
Francis Quarles.
FINIS.