TO CELIA
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 wither’d be;
But thou thereon didst only breathe
And sent’st it back to me;
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,
Not of itself but thee!
Chicago: Ben Jonson, To Celia Original Sources, accessed April 26, 2024, http://www.originalsources.com/Document.aspx?DocID=3Y3REG92U5AD67I.
MLA: Jonson, Ben. To Celia, Original Sources. 26 Apr. 2024. http://www.originalsources.com/Document.aspx?DocID=3Y3REG92U5AD67I.
Harvard: Jonson, B, To Celia. Original Sources, retrieved 26 April 2024, from http://www.originalsources.com/Document.aspx?DocID=3Y3REG92U5AD67I.
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