|
| And makes all like it selfe, turnes all to fire, |
| But ends in ashes, which these cannot doe, |
| For none of these is fuell; but fire too. |
| This is joyes bonfire, then, where loves strong Arts |
| Make of so noble individuall parts |
| One fire of foure inflaming eyes, and of two loving hearts. |
|
Idios.
As I have brought this song, that I may doe |
| A perfect sacrifice, I'll burne it too. |
|
Allophanes.
No Sir. This paper I have justly got, |
| For in burnt Incense the perfume is not |
| His onely that presents it, but of all; |
| What ever celebrates this Festivall |
| Is common, since the joy thereof is so. |
| Nor may your selfe be Priest: but let me goe; |
| Backe to the Court, and I will lay't upon |
| Such Altars, as prize your devotion. |
|
| Epithalamion made at Lincolnes Inne. |
|
| The Sun-beames in the East are spred, |
| Leave, leave, faire Bride, your solitary bed, |
| No more shall you returne to it alone, |
| It nourseth sadnesse, and your bodies print,
|
[CW: Like] |