She wept upon her cheeks, and weeping so,
She seem’d to quench love’s fire that there did glow.

Will ye hear what I can say
Briefly of my Julia?
Black and rolling is her eye,
Double-chinn’d and forehead high;
Lips she has all ruby red,
Cheeks like cream enclareted;
And a nose that is the grace
And proscenium of her face.
So that we may guess by these
The other parts will richly please.

Display thy *******, my Julia—there let me
Behold that circummortal purity,
Between whose glories there my lips I’ll lay,
Ravish’d in that fair via lactea.

Whenas in silks my Julia goes,
Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows
That liquefaction of her clothes.

Next, when I cast mine eyes and see
That brave vibration each way free;
—O how that glittering taketh me!

Julia was careless, and withal
She rather took than got a fall;
The wanton ambler chanc’d to see
Part of her legs’ sincerity:
And ravish’d thus, it came to pass,
The nag (like to the prophet’s ***)
Began to speak, and would have been
A-telling what rare sights he’d seen
And had told all; but did refrain
Because his tongue was tied again.

Dew sat on Julia’s hair,
And spangled too,
Like leaves that laden are
With trembling dew.

Or glittered to my sight,
As when the beams
Have their reflected light
Danced by the streams.

Droop, droop no more, or hang the head,
Ye roses almost withered;
Now strength and newer purple get,
Each here declining violet.
O primroses! let this day be
A resurrection unto ye;
And to all flowers ally’d in blood,
Or sworn to that sweet sisterhood:
For health on Julia’s cheek hath shed
Claret and cream commingled;
And those her lips do now appear
As beams of coral, but more clear.

As shows the air when with a rainbow grac’d,
So smiles that riband ’bout my Julia’s waist
Or like—nay ’tis that zonulet of love,
Wherein all pleasures of the world are wove.

Would ye oil of blossoms get?
Take it from my Julia’s sweat:
Oil of lilies and of spike?
From her moisture take the like,
Let her breathe, or let her blow,
All rich spices thence will flow.

Tell, if thou canst, and truly, whence doth come
This camphire, storax, spikenard, galbanum,
These musks, these ambers, and those other smells
Sweet as the Vestry of the Oracles.
I’ll tell thee:—while my Julia did unlace
Her silken bodice but a breathing space,
The passive air such odour then assumed
As when to Jove great Juno goes perfumed,
Whose pure immortal body doth transmit
A scent that fills both heaven and earth with it.

So smooth, so sweet, so silv’ry is thy voice
As, could they hear, the ****’d would make no noise,
But listen to thee, walking in thy chamber,
Melting melodious words to lutes of amber.

Under a lawn, than skies more clear,
Some ruffled roses nestling were:
And, snugging there, they seem’d to lie
As in a flowery nunnery:
They blush’d, and look’d more fresh than flowers
Quicken’d of late by pearly showers,
And all because they were possess’d
But of the heat of Julia’s breast:
Which, as a warm and moisten’d spring,
Gave them their ever-flourishing.

Have ye beheld (with much delight)
A red rose peeping through a white?
Or else a cherry (double graced)
Within a lily? Centre placed?
Or ever marked the pretty beam
A strawberry shows half drowned in cream?
Or seen rich rubies blushing through
A pure smooth pearl, and orient too?
So like to this, nay all the rest,
Is each neat niplet of her breast.

Thrice happy roses, so much grac’d to have
Within the ***** of my love your grave.
Die when ye will, your sepulchre is known,
Your grave her ***** is, the lawn the stone.