YEE happy floods! that now must passe

The sacred conduicts of her Wombe,

Smooth, and transparent as your face,

When you are deafe, and windes are dumbe.

Be proud! and if your Waters be

Foul’d with a counterfeyted teare,

Or some false sigh hath stained yee,

Haste, and be purified there.

And when her Rosie gates y’have trac’d,

Continue yet some Orient wet,

’Till turn’d into a Gemme, y’are plac’d

Like Diamonds with Rubies set.

Yee drops that dew th’ Arabian bowers

Tell me did you e’re smell or view

On any leafe of all your flowers

Soe sweet a sent, so rich a hiew?

But as through th’ Organs of her breath,

You trickle wantonly, beware;

Ambitious Seas in their just death

As well as Lovers must have share.

And see! you boyle as well as I,

You that to coole her did aspire,

Now troubled, and neglected lye,

Nor can your selves quench your owne fire.

Yet still be happy in the thought,

That in so small a time as this;

Through all the Heavens you were brought

Of Vertue, Honour, Love and Blisse.