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Sometimes he cloathes it gay and fine,
Then straight againe he strips it.
He cover'd it with false reliefe,
Which gloriously show'd it; And for a morning-cushionet
On's mother he bestow'd it.
Each day, with her small brazen stings,
A thousand times she rac'd it; But then at night, bright with her gemmes,
Once neere her breast she plac'd it.
There warme it gan to throb and bleed;
She knew that smart, and grieved; At length this poore condemned heart
With these rich drugges repreeved.
Which my Lucasta dropped,
And found no rancor nigh it;
Had wrought some proud flesh by it.
Then prest she narde in ev'ry veine,
Which from her kisses trilled; And with the balme heald all its paine,
That from her hand distilled.
' XI But yet this heart avoyds me still,
Will not by me be owned; But's fled to its physitian's breast; · There proudly sits inthroned.
ORPHEUS TO WOODS
SET BY MR. CURTES
L EARK! Oh heark! you guilty trees,
ORPHEUS TO BEASTS
L ERE, here, oh here! Euridice,
The gods knew lesse
Then ev'n, ev’n these
Oh! could you view the melodie
Of ev'ry grace, And musick of her face,
You'd drop a teare,
In her bright eye,
That so like dying is, but is not it?
'Till kind how doe you call's us from the fit.
Death quickly wounds, and wounding cures
the ill. Alex. It is the glory of a valiant lover, Still to be dying, still for to recover.