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Pocula Castalia

The Authors Motto. Fortunes Tennis-Ball. Eliza. Poems. Epigrams. &c. By R. B. [i.e Robert Baron]
  

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 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
 V. 
 VI. 
 VII. 
 VII. 
 VIII. 
 IX. 
 X. 
 XI. 
 XII. 
 XIII. 
 XIV. 
 XV. 
 XVI. 
 XVII. 
 XVIII. 
 XIX. 
 XX. 
 XXI. 
 XXII. 
 XXIII. 
 XXIV. 
 XXV. 
 XXVI. 
 XXVII. 
 XXVIII. 
 XXIX. 
 XXX. 
 XXXI. 
 XXXII. 
 XXXIII. 
 XXXIV. 
 XXXV. 
XXXV. Campo-musæ.
 XXXVI. 
 XXXVII. 
 XXXVIII. 
 XXXIX. 
 XL. 
 XLI. 
 XLII. 
 XLIII. 
 XLIV. 
 XLV. 

XXXV. Campo-musæ.

Silvan by wagging of a bough,
Did becken me forth to see how
The Spring (the fair mother of Flowers)
Had given new coats to whistling Bowers.
In this gay Palace of the Spring
To hear May's harmlesse Syrens Sing.
And teach Nimph Eccho aires, I spread
My limbes upon a spicy bed
Of sweet though ordinary flowers
Perfum'd with West winds balmy showers,
Here many a theam my fancy hit,
Each object drew my thoughts to it,

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I saw the Marygold (Clytie pale)
Her beauty to the Sun unvaile,
As if she hop'd he would be to her
No longer coy, but came to woe her.
I thought no Plant in all the Bower
So like a woman as this Flower,
'Cause when she feels a litle heat
She opes her leaves and wide doth spread.
But she doth this whilst the Worlds eye
Doth brave the East, and gild the skie;
When he descends into the maine
And makes night shee shuts-close again.
With that my Muse her Theam did vary,
Knowing Women do the contrary.