| |
|
By those soft
tods of wool
With which the air is full;
By all
those tinctures there,
That paint the hemisphere;
By dews and drizzling rain
That swell the golden
grain;
By all those sweets that be
I' the flowery
nunnery;
By silent nights, and the
Three forms of
Hecate;
By all aspects that bless
The sober
sorceress,
While juice she strains, and pith
To
make her philters with;
By time that hastens on
Things to perfection;
And by yourself, the best
Conjurement of the rest:
O my Electra! be
In love
with none but me.
|
|
|
