37
You let him loose to have his will awhile,
Glutting himself, he will return again
And, tired, bide contented in his cage
Lenore:
Until the day that he devour you!
Grant your elixir to perfection come,
'The Red Rose blossom,' as you used to say,
How would the world be better for the boon,
Would you take pity on the poor, the blind?
Sharing its pretious benefit with them?
Sylvester:
Aye, would I, truly, not the first, indeed,
Which were not for myself a drop too much,
But as I had progress'dthe second brew?
That were a gift for Popes and Emperors,
A flask or two to Philosophick friends,
Aye, surely, in good time the poor should find
That they were not forgotten.
