Drink to me, only, with thine eyes, br And I will pledge with mine; br Or leave a kisse but in the cup, br And Ile not look for wine. br The thirst, that from the soule doth rise, br Doth aske a drink divine: br But might I of Jove's Nectar sup, br I would not change for thine. br I sent thee, late, a rosie wreath, br Not so much honoring thee, br As giving it a hope, that there br It could not withered be. br But thou thereon did'st onely breathe, br And sent'st it back to mee: br Since when it growes, and smells, I sweare, br Not of it selfe, but thee.