WOULD you make your Sweets more Sweet? Then you must both presse & beat, Till that distresse Make them confesse Their uttmost Secrets in a deep-drawne breath; Which drives a Clowd of Odours from beneath. Would you make your idle Vine Buisie grow, & big with Wine? Kind Crueltie The Salve must be. Call for your hook, & lop ye wanton boughs By which Shee grows indeed, but fruitlesse grows. Has ye long neglected Dust Sheath'd thy glittering Sword in Rust? You must not spare Your sharpest care: Rubbing, & scouring, & such churlish wayes Must faded Metalls to their splendor raise. Yf you say, Whats that to Mee? I'm no Odours, Sword, nor Tree: Then tell me plain, Do'st appertain To Thee to be in thy @3Great Masters@1 sight (Though on those harsh termes) Fertile, Sweet, & Bright? If so, in these Copies read What salve best will suit thy need. What e'r it be Heer's none we see But hard & sharp. Wholsome @3Affliction@1 Heavn does prescribe for Us, & that alone. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ABOVE HALF MOON by JAMES GALVIN THE BLACK MAMMY by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE TRUTH by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES UPON JULIA'S BREASTS by ROBERT HERRICK AUGUST SUNSET OVER LAKE CHAMPLAIN by FRANK A. BALCH |