University of Virginia Library


104

TO THE GLASS.

Give me the glasse that felt her lippe,
And happy, happy shall I sippe:
And when is fled the daintie wyne,
Something remaineth still divyne.
Heaven's dewes that on the flower doe falle,
Make them to smyle and fayre withal;
And thus the dewe of her sweet kisse
Doth bathe my heart with balmy blisse:
But dewes to vapoure flye awaye,
While her rich fragrance lasts for aye.
J. D.