Song: To Celia
by Benjamin  Jonson

Drink to me, only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I'll not look for wine. The thirst, that from the soul doth rise, Doth ask a drink divine: But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine. I sent thee late a rosy wreath, Not so much honouring thee, As giving it a hope, that there It could not withered be. But thou thereon did'st only breath, And sent'st it back to me: Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, No of itself, but thee. INDEX - NEXT