As that (I must mourningly
say) is the only fault of my fortune, that, as it hath ever been my
hap to be sued to, by all ladies and beauties, where I have come;
so I never yet sojourn'd or rested in that place or part of the
world, where some high-born, admirable, fair feature died not for
my love.
MER. O, the sweet power of travel! -- Are you guilty of this,
Cupid?
CUP. No, Mercury; and that his page Cos knows, if he were here
present to be sworn.
PHI. But how doth this draw on the ditty, sir?
MER. O, she is too quick with him; he hath not devised that yet.
AMO. Marry, some hour before she departed, she bequeath'd to me
this glove: which golden legacy, the emperor himself took care to
send after me, in six coaches, cover'd all with black-velvet,
attended by the state of his empire; all which he freely presented
me with: and I reciprocally (out of the same bounty) gave to the
lords that brought it: only reserving the gift of the deceased
lady, upon which I composed this ode, and set it to my most
affected instrument, the lyra.
Thou more then most sweet glove,
Unto my more sweet love,
Suffer me to store with kisses
This empty lodging, that now misses
The pure rosy hand, that wear thee,
Whiter than the kid that bare thee:
Thou art soft, but that was softer;
Cupid's self hath kiss'd it ofter
Than e'er he did his mother's doves.
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