To a Bed of Tulips
Bright Tulips, we do know,
You had your comming hither;
And Fading-time do's show,
That Ye must quickly wither.
Your Sister-hoods may stay,
And smile here for your houre;
But dye ye must away:
Even as the meanest Flower.
Come Virgins then, and see
Your frailties; and bemone ye;
For lost like these, 'twill be,
As Time had never known ye.
You had your comming hither;
And Fading-time do's show,
That Ye must quickly wither.
Your Sister-hoods may stay,
And smile here for your houre;
But dye ye must away:
Even as the meanest Flower.
Come Virgins then, and see
Your frailties; and bemone ye;
For lost like these, 'twill be,
As Time had never known ye.
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