Sonnet 80. Sweet Swelling Lip
Sweet swelling lip, well may'st thou swell in pride, Since best wits think it wit thee to admire; Nature's praise, Virtue's stall, Cupid's cold fire, Whence words, not words but heav'nly graces, slide; The new Parnassus, where the Muses bide, Sweet'ner of music, wisdom's baeautifier: Breather of life, and fast'ner of desire, Where Beauty's blush in Honor's grain is dyed. Thus much my heart compell'd my mouth to say, But now, spite of my heart, my mouth will stay, Loathing all lies, doubting this flattery is: And no spur can his resty race renew, Without how far this praise is short of you, Sweet lip, you teach my mouth with one sweet kiss.
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