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 Julia's lips do smile; There's the land, or cherry-isle.

It is the end that crowns us, not the fight.

Bid me despair, and I'll despair, Under that cypress tree; Or bid me die, and I will dare E'en Death, to die for thee.

Some asked me where the rubies grew, And nothing I did say; But with my finger pointed to The lips of Julia.

Some asked how pearls did grow, and where? Then spoke I to my girl To part her lips, and showed them there The quarelets of pearl.

I care not for these ladies, That must be wooed and prayed; Give me kind Amaryllis, The wanton country maid. Nature art disdaineth; Her beauty is her own.

Her robe is a cloud, her face a flower; Her balcony, glimmering with the bright spring dew, Is either the tip of earth's Jade Mountain, Or a moon-edged roof of…