I'll hug, I'll kiss, I'll play,
And, cock-like, hens I'll tread,
And sport it any way
But in the bridal bed.
For why? that man is poor
Who hath but one of many,
But crown'd he is with store
That, single, may have any.
Why then, say, what is he,
To freedom so unknown,
Who, having two or three,
Will be content with one?
425. THE WILLOW GARLAND.
A willow garland thou did'st send
Perfum'd, last day, to me,
Which did but only this portend—
I was forsook by thee.
Since so it is, I'll tell thee what,
To-morrow thou shalt see
Me wear the willow; after that,
To die upon the tree.
As beasts unto the altars go
With garlands dress'd, so I
Will, with my willow-wreath, also
Come forth and sweetly die.
427. A HYMN TO SIR CLIPSEBY CREW.
'Twas not love's dart,
Or any blow
Of want, or foe,
Did wound my heart
With an eternal smart;
But only you,
My sometimes known
Companion,
My dearest Crew,
That me unkindly slew.