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��THOMAS CAMPION
178 Cherry-Rife
VHERE is a garden in her face Where roses and white lilies blow; A heavenly paradise is that place, Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow:
There cherries grow which none may buy Till 'Cherry-ripe' themselves do cry.
Those cherries fairly do enclose
Of orient pearls a double row, Which when her lovely laughter shows, They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow, Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy Till 'Cherry-ripe' themselves do cry.
Her eyes like angels watch them still;
Her brows like bended bows do stand, Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill All that attempt with eye or hand Those sacred cherries to come nigh, Till 'Cherry-ripe' themselves do cry.
��/7P Laura
>OSE-CHEEK'D Laura, come;
Sing thou smoothly with thy beauty's Silent music, either other Sweetly gracing.
��R C
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