Fly to my Mistresse, pretty pilfring Bee, And say, thou bring'st this Hony-bag from me: When on her lip, thou hast thy sweet dew plac't, Mark, if her tongue, but slily, steale a taste. If so, we live; if not, with mournfull humme, Tole forth my death; next, to my buryall come. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WRITTEN IN NORTHAMPTON COUNTY ASYLUM by JOHN CLARE MOTLEY: MUSIC by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE A WISH by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI GREENES FUNERALLS: SONNET 1 by RICHARD BARNFIELD THE OUTLAW by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS CONCERT PARTY: BUSSEBOOM by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |