From heav'nly thoughts all true delight doth spring.
Never weather-beaten sail more willing bent to shore.
Let now the chimneys blaze And cups o’erflow with wine... The summer hath his joys, And winter his delights; Though love and all his pleasures are but toys, They shorten tedious nights.
There is a garden in her eyes, where roses and white lilies flow.
Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow.
A prudent pharmacist often vends something for your complaint. But wine merchant you do this invariably.