Page:The heptalogia, or, The seven against sense - a cap with seven bells (IA heptalogiaorseve00swin).pdf/35

XV.

Love you call it? Some twitch in the moon's face (observe)

Wet blink of her eyelid, tear dropt about dewfall,
Cheek flushed or obscured—does it make the sky swerve?
Fetch the test, work the question to rags, bring to proof all—
Find what souls want and bodies deserve!

XVI.

Ah, we know you! Your soul works to infinite ends,

Frets, uses life up for death's sake, takes pains,
Flings down love's self—'but you, bear me witness, my friends!
Have I lost spring? count up (see) the winter's fresh gains!
Is the shrub spoilt? the pine's hair impends!'