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Song To Celia
Ben Jonson (1573-1637)
Drink to me
only with thine eyes;
And I will
pledge with mine;
Or leave
a kiss but in the cup,
And I'll
not look for wine.
The thirst
that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask
a drink devine;
But might
I of Jove's nectar sup,
I would not
change for thine.
I sent thee
late a rosy wreath,
Not so much
honoring thee
As giving
it a hope that there
It could
not withered be.
But thou
thereon didst only breathe,
And sent'st
it back to me;
Since when
it grows, and smells, I swear,
Not of itself
but thee.
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