treams meet, so springs with gladder smiles
Meet after long divorcement _made by_ isles:
When love (the child of likeness) urgeth on
Their crystal _waters_ to an union.
So meet stol'n kisses when the moonie _night_
Calls forth fierce lovers to their wisht _delight_:
So kings and queens meet, when desire convinces
All thoughts, _save those that tend to_ getting princes.
As I meet thee, Soul of my life and fame!
Eternal Lamp of Love, whose radiant flame
Out-_darts_ the heaven's Osiris; and thy _gems
Darken_ the splendour of his mid-day beams.
Welcome, O welcome, my illustrious spouse!
Welcome as are the ends unto my vows:
_Nay_, far more welcome than the happy soil
The sea-scourged merchant, after all his toil,
Salutes with tears of joy, when fires _display_
The _smoking_ chimneys of his Ithaca.
Where hast thou been so long from my embraces,
Poor pitied exile? Tell me, did thy Graces
Fly discontented hence, and for a time
_Choose rather for_ to bless _some_ other clime?
+*_Oh, then, not longer let my sweet defer
*Her buxom smiles from me, her worshipper!_
Why _have those amber_ looks, the which have been
Time-past so fragrant, sickly now _call'd_ in
Like a dull twilight? Tell me, *_hath my soul
*Prophaned in speech or done an act that is foul
*Against thy purer essence?_ _For that_ fault
I'll expiate with sulphur, hair and salt:
And with the crystal humour of the spring
Purge hence the guilt, and kill _the_ quarrelling.
_Wilt_ thou not smile, _nor_ tell me what's amiss?
Have I been cold to hug thee, too remiss,
Too temperate in embracing? Tell me, has desire
To-thee-ward died in the embers, and no fire
Left in _the_ raked-up _ashes_, as a mark
To testify the glowing of a spark?
+_I must_ confess I left thee, and appeal
'Twas done by me more to _increase_ my zeal,
And double my affection[+]; as do those
Whose love grows more inflamed by being _froze_.
But to forsake thee, [+] could there _ever_ be
A thought of such-like possibility?
When _all the world may know that vines_ shall lack
Grapes, before Herrick _leave_ Canary sack.
*_Sack is my life, my leaven, salt to all
*My dearest dainties, nay, 'tis the principal
*Fire unto all my functions, gives me blood,
*An active spirit, full marrow, and, what is good,_
_Sack