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poet

Thomas Shadwell

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poem
Dear pretty youth, unveil your eyes,
How can you sleep when I am by?
Were I with you all night to be,
Methinks I could from sleep be free.
Alas, my dear, you're cold as stone:
You must no longer lie alone.
But be with me my dear, and I in each arm
Will hug you close and keep you warm.
poem
Prepare, prepare, new guests draw near,
And on the brink of hell appear.

Kindle fresh flames of sulphur there.
     Assemble all ye fiends,
     Wait for the dreadful ends
Of impious men, who far excel
     All th' inhabitants of hell.

     Let 'em come, let 'em come,
To an eternal dreadful doom,
     Let 'em