Ichor

This ſaid, ſhe wip’d from Venus’ wounded Palm / The ſacred Ichor, and infus’d the Balm.

With his protruded ſpear her gentle hand / He wounded, piercing through her thin attire / Ambroſial, by themſelves the Graces wrought, / Her inſide wriſt, faſt by her roſy palm. / Blood follow'd, but immortal; ichor pure, / Such as the bleſt inhabitants of heav'n / May bleed, nectareous; […]

He [Saint Peter] potter'd with his keys at a great rate, / And sweated through his apostolic skin: / Of course his perspiration was but ichor, / Or some such other spiritual liquor.

He had merely meant to express his feeling that the streams which ran through their veins were not yet purified by time to that perfection, had not become so genuine an ichor, as to be worthy of being called blood in the genealogical sense.

[I]chores and thoſe ſerious matters being thickned become flegme, and flegme degenerates into choler, choler aduſt becomes æruginoſa melancholia, as vinegar out of the pureſt wine putrified or by exhalation of purer ſpirits is ſo made, and becomes ſowre and ſharp; […]

Go bring him [an ant] home to his people. / Lay him in state on a sepal. / Wrap him for shroud in a petal. / Embalm him with ichor of nettle.

They will not live / As shades but angle forward to enjoy / The pluck of life, the pressure of their ichor.

Like snow fall you cry a silent storm. / Your tears paint rivers on this oaken wall / Amber nectar / misery ichor.