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Partly in verse.
Printers' names from STC.
Signatures: A2 B-I4 K2.
Running title reads: The witty faire one.
Reproduction of the original in the Bodleian Library.
HOR. SERM. lib. 1. Men ' moveat cimex Pantiluis ? aut crucier , quod Vellicet absentem Demetriùs ? — Demetri , teque Tigelli Discipulorum inter iubeo plorare Cathedras .
In Loves name you are charg'd hereby To make a speedy hue and cry , After a face who tother day Came and stole my heart away ; For your directions in briefe These are best markes to know the thiefe : Her hayre a net of beames would prove , Strong enough to Captive Iove : Playing the Eagle , her cleere brow Is a comely field of snow , A sparkling Eye , so pure a gray As when it shines it needs no day : Ivory dwelleth on her nose Lilly married to the rose , Have made her Cheeke the nuptiall bed Lippes betray their Virgins weed As they onely blusht for this That they one another kisse , But observe beside the rest You shall know this fellon best By her Tongue , for if your Eare Shall once a heavenly Musicke heare Such as neither Gods nor men But from that voyce shall heare , agen That that is shee , Oh take her t' ee None can rocke heaven asleepe but shee .
Her head is Opall , necke of Saphyre , Breast Carbuncles , shine like a fire . And the naked truth to tell you , The very mother of Pearle her belly : How can shee chose but heare my groanes , That is composed of precious stones .
Song . Backe , backe againe , fond man forbeare , Buy not a Minutes play too deare : Come with Holy flame and bee Welcome to Vertue and to mee .
Song . Love a thousand sweets distilling , And with Nectar bosomes filling , Charme all eyes that none may find vs , Be above , before , behind vs ; And while wee thy pleasures tast Enforce Time it selfe to stay , And by fore-locke hold him fast Least occasion slip away .
How he dyed some doe suppose How he sined the Parish knowes , Whether he 's gone to heauen or hell , Aske not me I cannot tell .
Vnderneath , the fayre not wise , Too selfe lou'd Narcissus lyes , Yet his sad destruction came From no Fountaine but a flame , Then youth Quench your hot desires , Purge your thoughts with chaster fyres , Least with him it be too late , And death triumph in your fate Hither all you Virgins come , Strow your teares vpon this Tombe . Perhaps a timely weeping may So dispose his scorched clay , That a chast and snowy flower May reward your gentle shower .
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