ANDREW MARVELL
My echoing song- then worms shall try
That long preserved virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust.
The grave 's a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embiacc.
Now therefore, while the youthful hue Sits on thy skin like morning dew, And while thy willing soul transpires At c\ery pore with instant files, Now let us sport us while we may, And now, like amorous bird* of prey, Rather at once our time devour Than languish in his slow-chapt power. Let us roll all our strength and all Our sweetness up into one ball, And tear our pleasuies with rough strife Thorough the iron gates of life Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run.
��368 The Picture of Little T. C. m a Prospect of Flowers
SEE with what simplicity This nymph begins her golden days* In the green grass she loves to lie, And there with her fair aspect tames The wilder flowers, and gives them names;
367 slow-chapt] slow-jawed, slowly devouring.
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