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Let foolish lovers, if they will love dung,
But borrow'd thence to light us thither. Beauty and beauteous words should go together.
Yet if you go, I pass not; take your way :
Let a bleak paleness chalk the door,
Press me not to take more pleasure
In this world of sugar'd lies,
Than my strict, yet welcome size.
First, there is no pleasure here :
Colour'd griefs indeed there are,
As if they could beauty spare.
Or if such deceits there be,
Such delights I mean to say ;
Who have pass'd my right away.
But I will not much oppose
Unto what you now advise : Only take this gentle Rose,
And therein my answer lies.
What is fairer than a rose ?
What is sweeter ? yet it purgetb. Purgings enmity disclose,
Enmity forbearance urgeth.
If then all that worldlings prize
Be contracted to a rose; Sweetly there indeed it lies,
But it biteth in the close.
So this flower doth judge and sentence
Worldly joys to be a scourge : For they all produce repentance,
And repentance is a purge.
But I health, not physic choose :
Only though I you oppose, Say that fairly I refuse,
For my answer is a rose.
THROW away thy rod,
O my God,
Is your waste;
fare. God is here prepared and dress’d,
And the feast, God, in whom all dainties are.
Come ye hither all, whom wine
And drink this,
: Taste and fear not: God is here
In this cheer,
without your bounds : Here is joy that drowneth quite