The Rinker’s Song.
Rink to me only with thine ice,
And I will sledge with mine;
Or heave a hiss but inly up,
And I’ll not look for whine.
The thirst that from a sole doth rise,
Doth ask a rink divine,
But might I on Jove’s necktie slip,
I would not change for thine.
I went to thee, late, a rosy youth,