LXXXII.
Nymph of the garden! where all beauties be;
Beauties which do in excellency surpass
His, who till death lookt in a wat'ry glass;
Or hers, whom naked the Trojan boy did see.
Sweet garden nymph! which keeps the cherry tree,
Whose fruit doth far th'Hesperian taste surpass:
Most sweet fair! most fair sweet! do not, alas,
From coming near those cherries, banish me!
For though full of desire, empty of wit,
Admitted late by your best gracèd grace;
I caught at one of them a hungry bite:
Pardon that fault! Once more grant me the place;
And I do swear even by the same delight,
I will but kiss, I never more will bite.
LXXXIII.
Good brother Philip! I have born you long.
I was content you should in favour creep,
While craftily you seemed your cut to keep;
As though that fair soft hand did you great wrong.
I bare (with envy) yet I bare your song,
When in her neck you did love ditties peep;
Nay, more fool I! oft suffered you to sleep
In lilies' nest, where LOVE'S self lies along.
What! doth high place ambitious thoughts augment?
Is sauciness, reward of courtesy?
Cannot such grace your silly self content;
But you must needs, with those lips billing be?
And through those lips drink nectar from that tongue?
Leave that Sir PHIP! lest off your neck be wrung!
