Tixall Poetry/The Lost Mistress
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XXIV.
The Lost Mistress.
Tell me, you wandring spirits of the aire,
Did you not see a nimph, more bright, more faire,
Then Venus' darling, or of parts more sweet
Then stolne delights? if such a one you meet,
Waite on her hourly, wheresoere she flies,
And cry, Amintas in her absence dies.
Did you not see a nimph, more bright, more faire,
Then Venus' darling, or of parts more sweet
Then stolne delights? if such a one you meet,
Waite on her hourly, wheresoere she flies,
And cry, Amintas in her absence dies.
Goe search the vallies, plucke up every rose,
Youle find a simpathy of her in those;
Goe fish for pearle and corrall, you shall see
How orientall all her coullars be:
Then call an echo to your aid, and cry,
Cloris, Cloris, it is for thee I die.
Youle find a simpathy of her in those;
Goe fish for pearle and corrall, you shall see
How orientall all her coullars be:
Then call an echo to your aid, and cry,
Cloris, Cloris, it is for thee I die.
Yet stay, I thinke I have informed you ill,
Were she on earth, she had been with me still;
Fly, fly to heaven, examin every spheare,
And see what stairs are lately fixed there:
If any brighter then the sun you see,
Fall downe and worship it, for that is shee.
Were she on earth, she had been with me still;
Fly, fly to heaven, examin every spheare,
And see what stairs are lately fixed there:
If any brighter then the sun you see,
Fall downe and worship it, for that is shee.