II. Let it flye as unconfin'd As it's calme ravisher, the winde, Who hath left his darling, th' East, To wanton o're that<18.3> spicie neast. III. Ev'ry tresse must be confest: But neatly tangled at the best; Like a clue of golden thread, Most excellently ravelled. IV. Doe not then winde up that light In ribands, and o'er-cloud in night, Like the sun in's early ray; But shake your head, and scatter day. V. See, 'tis broke! within this grove, The bower and the walkes of love, Weary lye we downe and rest, And fanne each other's panting breast. VI. Heere wee'll strippe and coole our fire, In creame below, in milk-baths<18.4> higher: And when all wells are drawne dry, I'll drink a teare out of thine eye. VII. Which our very joys shall leave, That sorrowes thus we can deceive; Or our very sorrowes weepe, That joyes so ripe so little keepe. <18.1> A portion of this song is printed, with a few orthographical variations, in the AYRES AND DIALOGUES, part i. 1653; and it is also found in Cotgrave's WITS INTERPRETER, 1655, where it is called "Amarantha counselled." Cotgrave used the text of Lawes, and only gives that part of the production which he found in AYRES AND DIALOGUES. <18.2> Forbear to brade--Lawes' AYRES AND DIALOGUES, and Cotgrave. <18.3> This--Lawes' AYRES AND DIALOGUES. Cotgrave reads HIS. <18.4> Milk-baths have been a favourite luxury in all ages. Peele had probably in his mind the custom of his own time and country when he wrote the following passage:-- "Bright Bethsabe shall wash in David's bower, In water mix'd with purest almond flower, And bathe her beauty in the milk of kids." KING DAVID AND FAIR BETHSABE, 1599. SONNET. SET BY MR. HUDSON. I. Depose your finger of that ring, And crowne mine with't awhile; Now I restor't. Pray, dos it bring Back with it more of soile? Or shines it not as innocent, As honest, as before 'twas lent? II. So then inrich me with that treasure, 'Twill but increase your store, And please me (faire one) with that pleasure Must please you still the more. Not to save others is a curse The blackest, when y'are ne're the worse. ODE. SET BY DR. JOHN WILSON.<19.1> TO LUCASTA. THE ROSE. I. Sweet serene skye-like flower, Haste to adorn her bower; From thy long clowdy bed Shoot forth thy damaske<19.2> head. II. New-startled blush of FLORA! The griefe of pale AURORA, Who will contest no more, Haste, haste, to strowe her floore. III. Vermilion ball, that's given From lip to lip in Heaven; Loves couches cover-led, Haste, haste, to make her bed.