Upon Julia's Ribband
As shews the Aire, when with a Rain-bow grac'd;
So smiles that Riband 'bout my Julia's waste:
Or like — — Nay 'tis that Zonulet of love,
Wherein all pleasures of the world are wove.
So smiles that Riband 'bout my Julia's waste:
Or like — — Nay 'tis that Zonulet of love,
Wherein all pleasures of the world are wove.
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