"So _swift_ streams 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 makes_ me _sprightful, airy_ to be borne, Like Iphyclus, upon the tops of corn. _Sack makes_ me nimble, as the wingèd hours, To dance and caper _o'er the tops_ of flowers, And ride the sunbeams. Can there be a thing Under the _cope of heaven_ that can bring More _joy_ unto my _soul_, or can present My Genius with a fuller blandishment? Illustrious Idol! _Can_ the Egyptians seek Help from the garlick, onion and the leek, And pay no vows to thee, who _art the_ best