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 Her legs were such Diana shows When, tucked up, she a-hunting goes; With buskins shortened to descry The happy dawning of her thigh: Which when I saw, I made access To kiss that tempting nakedness: But she forbade me with a wand Of myrtle she had in her hand: And, chiding me, said: Hence, remove, Herrick, thou art too coarse to love.

You say, to me-wards your affection's strong; Pray love me little, so you love me long. Slowly goes far: the mean is best: desire, Grown violent, does either die or tire.

'Twas but a single rose, Till you on it did breathe; But since, methinks, it shows Not so much rose as wreath.

In this little vault she lies, Here, with all her jealousies: Quiet yet; but if ye make Any noise they both will wake, And such spirits raise 'twill then Trouble death to lay again.