Page:The heptalogia, or, The seven against sense - a cap with seven bells (IA heptalogiaorseve00swin).pdf/29

Gradually, not gladly! Nay, but, Meg,
Is it more than the ransom (say) of a king
(Take my meaning at least) that I beg?

III.

Not so! You were ready to learn, I think,

What the world said! 'He loves you too well (suppose)
For such leanings! These poets, their love's mere ink—
Like a flower, their flame flashes—a rosebud, blows—
Then it all drops down at a wink!

IV.

'Ah, the instance! A curl of a blossomless vine

The vinedresser passing it sickens to see
And mutters "Much hope (under God) of His wine