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Stay while ye will, or goe. 
And leave no scent behind ye ; 
Yet trust me, I shall know 
The place where I may find ye. 
Within my Lucia’s cheeke. 
Whose livery ye weare. 
Play ye at hide or seeke. 
I’m sure to find ye there. 
In another coinplimentaiy poem the same Bard thus intro¬ 
duces the Clove Pink — 
So smell those odours that do rise 
From out the wealthy spiceries ; 
So smells the flower of blooming Clove 
Or roses smother’d in the stove; 
So smells the air of spiced wine 
Or essences of Jessamine. 
In the following dialogue poem, by the same writer, are 
so many sweet thoughts, I shall quote it entire — 
Among the mirtles as I walk’t. 
Love and my sighs thus intertalk’t; 
Tell me, said I, in deep distresse. 
Where I may find my Shepheardesse. 
Thou foole, said Love, know’st thou not this ? 
In every thing that’s sweet she is. 
In yond’ Carnation goe and seek. 
There thou shalt find her lip and cheeke; 
In that ennamell’d pansie by. 
There thou shalt have her curious eye; 
In bloom of peech, and rose’s bud. 
There waves the streamer of her blood. 
’Tis true, said I, and thereupon 
I went to pluck them one by one. 
