Beat your eggs up, light and quick; Froth them thick; Mingle with them while you beat Juice of lemon, essence fine; Then combine The burst milk of almonds sweet.
He who has seen her smile has known perfection, —Instilling into trifles grace’s essence, Divinity in every careless gesture; Not Venus’ self can mount her conch blown sea-ward, As she can step into her chaise a porteurs, Nor Dian fleet across the woods spring-flowered, Light as my Lady o’er the stones of Paris!
I do not lull me with illusions—yet At times I’m weak: in evening hours dim I enter some fair pleasance, perfumed sweet; With my poor ugly devil of a nose I scent spring’s essence—in the silver rays I see some knight—a lady on his arm, And think ’To saunter thus ’neath the moonshine, I were fain to have my lady, too, beside!’
There are no more uses of "essence" in the play.
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To make things better, to enjoy each other’s company, and to empathize are essence of humanity.
There was only—spring itself; the throb of it, the light restlessness, the vital essence of it everywhere...