For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.


CHERRY-RIPE.

Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry;
Full and fair ones; come, and buy!
If so be you ask me where
They do grow? I answer, there,
Where my Julia's lips do smile;
There's the land or cherry isle,
Whose plantations fully show,
All the year, where cherries grow.


THE KISS: A DIALOGUE.

1. Among thy fancies, tell me this:
What is the thing we call a kiss?--
2. I shall resolve ye what it is:

It is a creature, born and bred
Between the lips, all cherry red;
By love and warm desires 'tis fed;
_Chor_.--And makes more soft the bridal bed:

2. It is an active flame, that flies
First to the babies of the eyes,
And charms them there with lullabies;