Embay

Sweete Loue, that doth his golding wings embay / In bleſſed Nectar, and pure Pleaſures well[…].

Their ſwords both points and edges ſharpe embay / In purple bloud, where ſo they hit or light[…]

Hebrew the profile, every line; / But as in haven fringed with palm, / Which Indian reefs embay from harm, / Belulled as in the vase the wine— / Red budded corals in remove, / Peep coy through quietudes above; […]

Herself the only daughter of a struggling man of letters, she had during the last year or two taken to writing poems, in an endeavour to find a congenial channel in which to let flow her painfully embayed emotions, whose former limpidity and sparkle seemed departing in the stagnation caused by the routine of a practical household and the gloom of bearing children to a commonplace father.