Poem by Robert Herrick

Upon Julia's Voice

When I thy singing next shall hear,
I'll wish I might turn all to ear,
To drink-in notes and numbers, such
As blessed souls can't hear too much
Then melted down, there let me lie
Entranced, and lost confusedly;
And by thy music strucken mute,
Die, and be turn'd into a Lute.

1. Wlt Punished Prospers Most
2. To Enjoy the Time
3. No Pains, No Gains
4. Upon Wrinkles
5. Upon Tears

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