Welcome, Maids Of Honor, You Doe Bring

Who Covets More Is Evermore A Slave.

Give Me A Kiss, And To That Kiss A Score; Then To That Twenty, Add A Hundred More: A Thousand To That Hundred: So Kiss On, To Make That Thousand Up A Million. Treble That Million, And When That Is Done, Let's Kiss Afresh, As When We First Begun.

Next, When I Cast Mine Eyes And See That Brave Vibration Each Way Free, O How That Glittering Taketh Me!

A Winning Wave, (deserving Note.) In The Tempestuous Petticote, A Careless Shoe-string, In Whose Tye I See A Wilde Civility,-- Doe More Bewitch Me Than When Art Is Too Precise In Every Part.

I Sing Of Brooks, Of Blossoms, Birds, And Bowers: Of April, May, Or June, And July Flowers. I Sing Of Maypoles, Hock-carts, Wassails, Wakes, Of Bridegrooms, Brides, And Of The Bridal Cakes.