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Rh As after storm longwhelm'd and worthless weed, Or waifs of spar from drown'd and ruin'd ships Rise from the underseas, I fain would sleep, Sleep till the Perfect Rose be come to bloom, That turns an old man to his youth again!

Well met Sylvester! On my festa day I smell'd a nosegay by my husband sent, Believing it my gallant's offering, And swoon'd to death, so potent was the sweet Of those fair-seeming flowery hypocrites. Yet should I have been 'ware of poisons, I, Bred of the Borgias, and to Popes akin,