should we allow henry purcell to be called one of the greatest poets of his age?
if music be the food of love,
sing on till i am fill'd with joy;
for then my list'ning soul you move
with pleasures that can never cloy,
your eyes, your mien, your tongue declare
that you are music everywhere.
pleasures invade both eye and ear,
so fierce the transports are, they wound,
and all my senses feasted are,
tho' yet the treat is only sound.
sure i must perish by your charms
unless you save in your arms.
metaphysical poets=amazing
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