text,updated_at,metaphor,created_at,context,theme,reviewed_on,dictionary,comments,provenance,id,work_id "SONG.
Fickle youth thro' the garden of beauty may range,
And from fair one to fair one inconstantly change;
Like the bee, in the bell of the cowslip repose,
Steal a kiss from the lilly, then wing to the rose:
But should Hymen once happen thesspoiler to meet,
He compels him for life to enjoy the same sweet.
Nor complain of hard fate; but imprint on your mind,
That true pleasures should be like rich odours confin'd.

Mark the drop that distils from a cloud as it crost,
If it fall in the sea, how for ever 'tis lost:
And passion divided, like a spark will depart;
But when Hymen has six'd it, a flame lights the heart.
(I, p. 25)",2013-08-16 04:32:20 UTC,"""Nor complain of hard fate; but imprint on your mind, / That true pleasures should be like rich odours confin'd.""",2013-08-16 04:32:20 UTC,Act I,"",,Impressions,"",Searching in ECCO-TCP,22182,5643