The pleated wrinkles of the face
Of wave-swolne earth did lend such grace,
As shadowings in Imag'ry
Which both deceive and please the eye.
Such semicircles have they runne,
Such lynes across so trymly spunne
That sheppeards learne whenere they please
A new Geometry with ease.
Such is the barren Eunuches chynne,
Which thus doth evermore begynne
With tender downes to be orecast
Which never comes to haire at last.
Here would I sleepe, or read, or pray
From early morn till flight of day:
But harke! a sheepe-bell calls mee upp,
Like Oxford colledge bells, to supp.
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