Cherry ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry, Full and fair ones,come and buy! If so be you ask me where They do grow, I answer, there, Where my Julias lips do smile, There s the land, or cherry-isle.
A winning wave, deserving note, In the tempestuous petticoat; A careless shoe-string, in whose tie I see a wild civility, Do more bewitch me than when art Is too precise in every part.