GILES FLETCHER
Not all the skill his wounds can stench, Not all the sea his fire can quench. Love did make the bloody spear Once a leavy coat to wear, While in his leaves there shrouded lay Sweet birds, for love that sing and play And of all love's joyful flame I the bud and blossom am.
Only bend thy knee to me, Thy wooing shall thy winning be.
See, see the flowers that below
Now as fresh as morning blow;
And of all the virgin ro>e
That as bright Aurora shows;
How they all unleavcd die,
Losing their virginity'
Like unto a summer shade,
But now born, and now they fade.
Every thing doth pass away,
There is danger in delay:
Come, come, gather then the rose,
Gather it, or it you lose'
All the sand of Tagus' shore
Into my bosom casts his ore:
All the valleys' swimming corn
To my house is yearly borne:
Every grape of every vine
Is gladly bruised to make me wine:
While ten thousand kings, as proud,
To carry up my train have bow'd,
And a world of ladies send me
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