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 And took it up and view'd it; then Kissing the omen, said Amen; Be, be it so, and let this be A divination unto me; That in short time my woes shall cease And Love shall crown my end with peace.

Ye may simper, blush and smile, And perfume the air awhile; But, sweet things, ye must be gone, Fruit, ye know, is coming on; Then, ah! then, where is your grace, Whenas cherries come in place?

White though ye be, yet, lilies, know, From the first ye were not so; But I'll tell ye What befell ye: Cupid and his mother lay In a cloud, while both did play, He with his pretty finger press'd The ruby niplet of her breast; Out of which the cream of light, Like to a dew, Fell down on you And made ye white.