by William Alabaster (1567-1640)
Now I have found thee I will evermore
Embrace this standard where thou sitts above,
Feede greedie eies, and from hence never rove;
Sucke hungrie soule of this enternall store;
Issue my hart from thie two leaved dore,
And lett my lippes from kissinge not remove.
O that I weare transformed into love,
And as a plant might springe uppon this flower,
Like wandring Ivy or sweete honnie suckle:
How would I with my twine about it buckle,
And kisse his feete with my ambitious boughes,
And clyme along uppon his sacred brest,
And make a garland for his wounded browes:
Lord soe I am, if heare my thoughts may rest.