To Celia
Ben Jonson (1573–1637) from "Song to Celia"
Drink to me, only, with
thine eyes,
And I will pledge with
mine;
Or leave a kisse but in
the cup,
And Ile not look for wine.
The thirst, that from the
soule doth rise,
Doth aske a drink divine:
But might I of Jove's
Nectar sup,
I would not change for
thine.
I sent thee, late, a rosie
wreath,
Not so much honoring thee,
As giving it a hope, that
there
It could not withered be.
But thou thereon did'st
onely breathe,
And sent'st it back to
mee:
Since when it growes, and
smells, I sweare,
Not of it selfe, but
thee.
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