The Hecatomb to his Mistress by John Cleveland
Hecatomb The Hecatomb to his Mistress. Be dumb, you beggars of the rhyming trade, Geld your loose wits and let your Muse be spayed. Charge not the parish with the bastard phrase Of balm, elixir, both the Indias, Of shrine, saint, sacrilege, and such as these Expressions common as your mistresses. Hence, […]
To the State of Love. Or the Senses’ Festival. By John Cleveland
Senses Festival To the State of Love. Or the Senses’ Festival. I saw a vision yesternight, Enough to sate a Seeker’s sight; I wished myself a Shaker there, And her quick pants my trembling sphere. It was a she so glittering bright, You’d think her soul an Adamite; A person of so rare a […]