Ellinda's Glove. Sonnet.

A poem by Richard Lovelace

Thou snowy farme with thy five tenements![34.1]
Tell thy white mistris here was one,
That call'd to pay his dayly rents;
But she a-gathering flowr's and hearts is gone,
And thou left voyd to rude possession.

But grieve not, pretty Ermin cabinet,
Thy alabaster lady will come home;
If not, what tenant can there fit
The slender turnings of thy narrow roome,
But must ejected be by his owne dombe?[34.2]

Then give me leave to leave my rent with thee:
Five kisses, one unto a place:
For though the lute's too high for me,
Yet servants, knowing minikin[34.3] nor base,
Are still allow'd to fiddle with the case.

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