Those ruddy drops of squeezing wax,
Which, wheresoever she imparts,
They're privy seals to take up hearts.
50Our mouths encountering at the sport,
My slippery soul had quit the fort,
But that she stopped the sally-port.
Next to these sweets, her lips dispense
(As twin conserves of eloquence)
The sweet perfume her breath affords,
Incorporating with her words.