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 Show her how his eyes do turn And roll about, and in their motions burn Their balls to cinders: haste Or else to ashes he will waste.

Glide by the banks of virgins, then, and pass The showers of roses, lucky four-leav'd grass: The while the cloud of younglings sing And drown ye with a flowery spring; While some repeat Your praise and bless you, sprinkling you with wheat; While that others do divine, Bless'd is the bride on whom the sun doth shine; And thousands gladly wish You multiply as doth a fish.

And, beauteous bride, we do confess y'are wise In dealing forth these bashful jealousies: In love's name do so; and a price Set on yourself by being nice: But yet take heed; What now you seem be not the same indeed, And turn apostate: love will, Part of the way be met or sit stone-still. On, then, and though you slow- ly go, yet, howsoever, go.

And now y'are entered; see the coddled cook Runs from his torrid zone to pry and look