Bawdy

• To his Mistress going to bed John Donne
  
• Down, Wanton, Down! Robert Graves
  
• One Writing against His Prick Anonymous
  
• Sparrow, you darling pet of my beloved Catullus
  
• I have a gentil cok Anonymous
  
• The Vine Robert Herrick
  
• The Wee Wee Man Anonymous
  
• The Imperfect Enjoyment John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester
  
• The Imperfect Enjoyment Sir George Etherege
  
• On Fruition Sir Charles Sedley
  
• Song ("Whilst Alexis lay prest") John Dryden
  
• A Rapture Thomas Carew
  
• I gently touched her hand Anonymous
  
• On the Happy Corydon and Phillis Sir Charles Sedley
  

• Upon the Nipples of Julia's Breast Robert Herrick
  
• How to Choose a Mistress Anonymous
  
• A True Maid Matthew Prior
  
• Cloe George Granville, Lord Lansdowne
  
• Faith (wench) I cannot court thy sprightly eyes Sir John Davies
  
• Beauty, since you so much desire Thomas Campion
  
• Loues Progresse John Donne
  
• I care not for these Ladies Thomas Campion
  
• My Love in her attire doth show her wit Anonymous
  
• Delight in Disorder Robert Herrick
  
• Song ("Still to be neat, still to be drest") Ben Jonson
  
• Two or Three; or A Receipt to make a Cuckold Alexander Pope
  
• Song ("Pious Selinda goes to Pray'rs") William Congreve
  

    Come Madame, come; All rest my powers defy;
Vntill I labor, I in labor ly.
The foe oft times hauing the foe in sight
Is tyr'd with standing though they neuer fight.
Off with that girdle, like heauens zones glistering
But a farr fayrer world encompassing.
Vnpin that spangled brestplate; which you weare
That th'eyes of busy fooles may be stopt there.
Vnlase your selfe: for that harmonious chime
Tells me from you that now t'is your bed time.
Off with that happy buske whom I envy
That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.
Your gownes going off, such bewteous state reveales
As when from flowry Meads th'hills shadow steales.
Off with your wiry coronet and show
The hairy Diademe which on you doth grow.
Now off with those shoes and then safely tredd
In this Loves halowed temple; this soft bedd.
In such whight robes, heauens Angels vs'd to bee
Receaud by men: Thou, Angel bringst with thee
A heauen like Mahomets Paradise: And though
Ill Spirights walke in whight, we easily know
By this these Angels from an euill Spright:
They sett our haires but these the flesh vpright.
Licence my roving hands, and let them go
Behind, before, above, betweene, below.
Oh my America, my newfound land,
My kingdome, safelyest when with one man man'd.
My Myne of pretious stones; my empiree;
How blest ame I in this discouering thee!
To enter in these bonds, is to be free,
Then where my hand is sett, my seale shalbee.
Full nakednes, all ioyes are due to thee;
As Soules vnbodied, bodyes vncloth'd must bee,
To tast whole ioyes. Gems which you women vse
Are as Atlantas balls cast in mens views,
That when a fooles ey lighteth on a gem
His earthly Soule may covet theirs not them.
Like pictures, or like bookes gay coverings, made
For lay men, are all women thus arayd,
Themselues are mistique bookes, which only wee
Whom their imputed grace will dignify
Must see reuealed. Then since I may know,
As liberally as to a Midwife show
Thy selfe. Cast all, yea this whight linnen hence,
Ther is no penance, much lesse innocence.
To teach thee I ame naked first: Why than
What needst thou haue more covering then a man?

Down, wanton, down! Have you no shame
That at the whisper of Love's name,
Or Beauty's, presto! up you raise
Your angry head and stand at gaze?

Poor bombard-captain, sworn to reach
The ravelin and effect a breach —
Indifferent what you storm or why,
So be that in the breach you die!

Love may be blind, but Love at least
Knows what is man and what mere beast;
Or Beauty wayward, but requires
More delicacy from her squires.

Tell me, my witless, whose one boast
Could be your staunchness at the post,
When were you made a man of parts
To think fine and profess the arts?

Will many-gifted Beauty come
Bowing to your bald rule of thumb,
Or Love swear loyalty to your crown?
Be gone, have done! Down, wanton, down!

Base metal hanger by your master's thigh!
Eternal shame to all prick's heraldry,
Hide thy despised head and do not dare
To peep, no not so much as take the air
But through a button-hole; but pine and die
Confined within the codpiece monastery.
The little childish boy that hardly knows
The way through which his urine flows,
Touched by my mistress her magnetic hand
His little needle presently will stand.
Did she not raise thy drooping head on high
As it lay nodding on her wanton thigh?
Did she not clap her legs about my back,
Her porthole open? Damned prick what is 't you lack?
Henceforth stand stiff and gain your credit lost,
Or I'll ne'er draw thee, but against a post.

Sparrow, you darling pet of my beloved,
which she caresses, presses to her body
or teases with the tip of one sly finger
until you peck at it in tiny outrage!
— for there are times when my desired, shining
lady is moved to turn to you for comfort,
to find (as I imagine) ease for ardor,
solace, a little respite from her sorrow —
if I could only play with you as she does,
and be relieved of my tormenting passion!

I have a gentil cok,

I have a gentil cok,

His legges been of asur,
    So gentil and so smale;

I dream'd this mortal part of mine
Was Metamorphoz'd to a Vine;
Which crawling one and every way,
Enthrall'd my dainty Lucia.
Me thought, her long small legs & thighs
I with my Tendrils did surprize;
Her Belly, Buttocks, and her Waste
By my soft Nerv'lits were embrac'd:
About her head I writhing hung,
And with rich clusters (hid among
The leaves) her temples I behung:
So that my Lucia seem'd to me
Young Bacchus ravisht by his tree.
My curles about her neck did craule,
And armes and hands they did enthrall:
So that she could not freely stir,
(All parts there made one prisoner.)
But when I crept with leaves to hide
Those parts, which maids keep unespy'd,
Such fleeting pleasures there I took,
That with the fancie I awook;
And found (Ah me!) this flesh of mine
More like a Stock, then like a Vine.

As I was walking all alane
     Between a water and a wa';
And there I spied a wee wee man
     And he was the least that ere I saw.

His legs were scarce a shathmont's length
     And thick and thimber was his thigh,
Between his brows there was a span
     And between his shoulders there was three.

He took up a meikle stane
     And he flang 't as far as I could see;
Tho I had been as Wallace wight
     I couldna liften it to my knee.

"O wee wee man but thou be strong,
     O tell me whare thy dwelling be";
"My dwelling's down at yon bonny bower
     O will you go with me and see?"

On we lap and awa we rade
     Till we came to yon bonny green;
We lighted down for to bait our horse
     And out there came a lady fine;

Four and twenty at her back
     And they were a' clad out in green;
Tho the King of Scotland had been there
     The warst o' them might hae been his Queen.

On we lap and awa we rade
     Till we cam to yon bonny ha'
Whare the roof was o' the beaten gold
     And the floor was o' the cristal a'.

When we came to the stair foot
     Ladies were dancing jimp and sma',
But in the twinkling of an eye
     My wee wee man was clean awa'.

Naked she lay clasp'd in my longing Armes,
I fill'd with Love and she all over Charmes,
Both equally inspir'd with eager fire,
Melting through kindness, flameing in desire.
With Armes, Leggs, Lipps, close clinging to embrase
She clipps me to her Breast and sucks me to her face.
Her nimble tongue (loves lesser lightning) plaied
Within my Mouth; and to my thoughts conveyd
Swift Orders, that I should prepare to throw
The all dissolving Thunderbolt beloe.
My fluttering soul, sprung with the pointed Kiss,
Hangs hovering o're her balmy brinks of bliss;
But whilst her buisy hand would guide that part
Which shou'd convey my soul up to her heart
In liquid raptures I dissolve all o're,
Melt into sperm and spend at every pore.
A touch from any part of her had don't:
Her hand, her foot, her very look's a Cunt.
Smileing she chides in a kind, murmring noise
And from her body wipes the clamy Joyes,
When with a Thousand kisses wandring o're
My panting bossome, Is there then no more?
She cries; All this to Love, and Raptures due —
Must we not pay a Debt to pleasure too?
But I the most forlorn lost man alive
To shew my wish'd obedience vainly strive:
I sigh alas! and Kiss, but cannott swive.
Eager desires Confound the first intent,
Succeeding shame does more success prevent
And Rage at last Confirms me Impotent.
Even her fair hand which might bid heat return
To frozen Age; and make cold Hermitts burn,
Apply'de to my Dead Cinder warms no more
Then fire to ashes could past flames Restore.
Trembling, Confus'd, Dispairing, limber, dry,
A wishing, weak, unmoving lump I ly.
This Dart of Love whose peircing point oft Try'de
With Virgin blood Ten Thowsand Mayds has dy'de,
Which Nature still Directed with such Art
That it through every Cunt reach't every heart,
Stiffly Resolv'd t'would Carelesly invade
Woman, nor Man, nor ought its fury stayd —
Where ere it pierc'd a Cunt it found or made —
Now languid lies in this unhappy hour,
Shrunk up and sappless like a wither'd flower.
Thou Treacherous, base Deserter of my Flame,
False to my passion, fatall to my Fame,
Through what mistaken Magick doest thou prove
So true to Lewdness, so untrue to Love?
What Oyster, Cynder, Beggar, Common whore
Did'st thou ere fayle in all thy life before?
When Vice, Disease, and scandall lead the way
With what officious hast doest thou obey!
Like a rude Roareing Hector in the streets
Who scuffles, Cuffs and Justles all he meets
But if his King or Countrey claime his Ayde
The Rakehell villain shrinks and hides his head,
Even so thy brutall vallour is display'd,
Breaks every stew, does each small whore invade,
But when great Love the onsett does Command,
Base Recreant to thy Prince, thou durst not stand.
Worst part of me and henceforth hated most,
Through all the Town a Common Fucking Post,
On whom each Whore Relieves her tingling Cunt
As Hoggs on Gates doe rubb themselves and grunt,
Mayest thou to Ravenous Shankers be a prey
Or in Consumeing weepings wast away;
May strangury and stone thy daies attend;
Mayest thou nere piss who didst Refuse to spend
When all my Joyes did on false Thee depend.
And may Ten Thousand abler Pricks agree
To doe the wrong'd Corinna Right for Thee.

After a pretty amorous discourse,
She does resist my love with pleasing force,
Moved not with anger but with modesty:
Against her will she is my enemy.
Her eyes the rudeness of her arms excuse,
Those do accept what these seem to refuse;
To ease my passion and to make me blest,
The linen of itself falls from her breast;
Then with her lovely hands she does conceal
Those wonders chance so kindly did reveal.
In vain, alas, her nimble fingers strove
To keep her beauties from my greedy love;
Guarding her breasts, they do her lips expose:
To save a lily she must lose a rose.
What charms are here in every part! What grace!
A hundred hands can't shield each beauteous place.
Now she consents, her force she does recall,
And since I must have part she'll give me all.
Her arms, which did repulse me, now embrace,
And seem to guide me to the fought-for place.
Her love is in her sparkling eyes expressed,
She falls on the bed for pleasure more than rest.
But oh, strange passions! Oh, abortive joy!
My zeal does my devotion quite destroy:
Come to the temple where I should implore
My saint, I worship at the sacred door.
Oh cruel chance! The town which did oppose
My strength so long now yields to my dispose,
When, overjoyed with victory, I fall
Dead at the foot of the surrendered wall.
Without the usual ceremony, we
Have both fulfilled the amorous mystery;
The action which we should have jointly done,
Each has unluckily performed alone;
The union which our bodies should enjoy
The union of our eager souls destroy.
Our flames are punished by their own excess —
We'd had more pleasure had our love been less.
She blushed and frowned, perceiving we had done
The sport she thought we had not yet begun.
Alas, said I, condemn yourself, not me;
This is the effect of too much modesty.
Hence with that harmful virtue; the delight
Of both our victories was lost in the fight.
From my defeat your glory does arise,
My weakness proves the vigour of your eyes:
They did consume the victim, ere it came
Unto the altar, with a purer flame.
Phillis, let this same comfort ease your care:
You'd been more happy had you been less fair.

None, but a Muse in Love, can tell
The sweet tumultuous joys I feel,
When on Cælia's Breast I lye,
When I tremble, faint, and dye;
Mingling Kisses with Embraces,
Darting Tongues, and joyning Faces,
Panting, stretching, sweating, cooing,
All in the extasie, of doing.

1
Whilst Alexis lay prest
In her Arms he lov'd best,
With his hands round her neck,
And his head on her breast,
He found the fierce pleasure too hasty to stay,
And his soul in the tempest just flying away.

2
When Cælia saw this,
With a sigh, and a kiss,
She cry'd, Oh my dear, I am robb'd of my bliss;
'Tis unkind to your Love, and unfaithfully done,
To leave me behind you, and die all alone.

3
The Youth, though in haste,
And breathing his last,
In pity dy'd slowly, while she dy'd more fast;
Till at length she cry'd, Now, my dear, now let us go,
Now die, my Alexis, and I will die too.

4
Thus intranc'd they did lie,
Till Alexis did try
To recover new breath, that again he might die:
Then often they di'd; but the more they did so,
The Nymph di'd more quick, and the Shepherd more slow.

I Will enjoy thee now my Celia, come
And flye with me to Loves Elizium:
The Gyant, Honour, that keepes cowards out,
Is but a Masquer, and the servile rout
Of baser subjects onely, bend in vaine
To the vast Idoll, whilst the nobler traine
Of valiant Lovers, daily sayle betweene
The huge Collosses legs, and passe unseene
Vnto the blissfull shore; be bold, and wise,
And we shall enter, the grim Swisse denies
Only tame fooles a passage, that not know
He is but forme, and onely frights in show
The duller eyes that looke from farre; draw neere,
And thou shalt scorne, what we were wont to feare.
We shall see how the stalking Pageant goes
With borrowed legs, a heavie load to those
That made, and beare him; not as we once thought
The seed of Gods, but a weake modell wrought
By greedy men, that seeke to enclose the common,
And within private armes empale free woman.
    Come then, and mounted on the wings of love
Wee'le cut the flitting ayre, and sore above
The Monsters head, and in the noblest seates
Of those blest shades, quench, and renew our heates.
There, shall the Queene of Love, and Innocence,
Beautie and Nature, banish all offence
From our close Ivy twines, there I'le behold
Thy bared snow, and thy unbraded gold.
There, my enfranchiz' d hand, on every side
Shall o're thy naked polish'd Ivory slide.
No curtaine there, though of transparant lawne,
Shall be before thy virgin-treasure drawne;
But the rich Mine, to the enquiring eye
Expos'd, shall ready still for mintage lye,
And we will coyne young Cupids. There, a bed
Of Roses, and fresh Myrtles, shall be spread
Vnder the cooler shade of Cypresse groves:
Our pillowes, of the downe of Venus Doves,
Whereon our panting lims wee'le gently lay
In the faint respites of our active play;
That so our slumbers, may in dreames have leisure,
To tell the nimble fancie our past pleasure;
And so our soules that cannot be embrac'd,
Shall the embraces of our bodyes taste.
Meane while the bubbling streame shall court the shore,
Th'enamoured chirping Wood-quire shall adore
In varied tunes the Deitie of Love;
The gentle blasts of Westerne winds, shall move
The trembling leaves, & through their close bows breath
Still Musick, whilst we rest our selves beneath
Their dancing shade; till a soft murmure, sent
From soules entranc'd in amorous languishment
Rowze us, and shoot into our veines fresh fire,
Till we, in their sweet extasie expire.
    Then, as the empty Bee, that lately bore,
Into the common treasure, all her store,
Flyes 'bout the painted field with nimble wing,
Deflowring the fresh virgins of the Spring;
So will I rifle all the sweets, that dwell
In my delicious Paradise, and swell
My bagge with honey, drawne forth by the power
Of fervent kisses, from each spicie flower.
I'le seize the Rose-buds in their perfum'd bed,
The Violet knots, like curious Mazes spread
O're all the Garden, taste the ripned Cherry,
The warme, firme Apple, tipt with corall berry:
Then will I visit, with a wandring kisse,
The vale of Lillies, and the Bower of blisse:
And where the beauteous Region doth divide
Into two milkie wayes, my lips shall slide
Downe those smooth Allies, wearing as I goe
A tract for lovers on the printed snow;
Thence climbing o're the swelling Appenine,
Retire into thy grove of Eglantine;
Where I will all those ravisht sweets distill
Through Loves Alimbique, and with Chimmique skill
From the mixt masse, one soveraigne Balme derive,
Then bring that great Elixar to thy hive.
    Now in more subtile wreathes I will entwine
My sinowie thighes, my legs and armes with thine;
Thou like a sea of milke shalt lye display'd,
Whilst I the smooth, calme Ocean, invade
With such a tempest, as when Jove of old
Fell downe on Danae in a storme of gold:
Yet my tall Pine, shall in the Cyprian straight
Ride safe at Anchor, and unlade her fraight:
My Rudder, with thy bold hand, like a tryde,
And skilfull Pilot, thou shalt steere, and guide
My Bark into Loves channell, where it shall
Dance, as the bounding waves doe rise or fall:
Then shall thy circling armes, embrace and clip
My willing bodie, and thy balmie lip
Bathe me in juyce of kisses, whose perfume
Like a religious incense shall consume,
And send up holy vapours, to those powres
That blesse our loves, and crowne our sportfull houres,
That with such Halcion calmenesse, fix our soules
In steadfast peace, as no affright controules.
There, no rude sounds shake us with sudden starts,
No jealous eares, when we unrip our hearts
Sucke our discourse in, no observing spies
This blush, that glance traduce; no envious eyes
Watch our close meetings, nor are we betrayd
To Rivals, by the bribed chamber-maid.
No wedlock bonds unwreathe our twisted loves;
We seeke no midnight Arbor, no darke groves
To hide our kisses, there, the hated name
Of husband, wife, lust, modest, chaste, or shame,
Are vaine and empty words, whose very sound
Was never heard in the Elizian ground.
All things are lawfull there, that may delight
Nature, or unrestrained Appetite;
Like, and enjoy, to will, and act, is one,
We only sinne when Loves rites are not done.
    The Roman Lucrece there, reades the divine
Lectures of Loves great master, Aretine,
And knowes as well as Lais, how to move
Her plyant body in the act of love.
To quench the burning Ravisher, she hurles
Her limbs into a thousand winding curles,
And studies artfull postures, such as be
Caru'd on the barke of every neighbouring tree
By learned hands, that so adorn'd the rinde
Of those faire Plants, which as they lay entwinde,
Have fann'd their glowing fires. The Grecian Dame,
That in her endlesse webb, toyl'd for a name
As fruitlesse as her worke, doth there display
Her selfe before the Youth of Ithaca,
And th'amorous sport of gamesome nights prefer,
Before dull dreames of the lost Traveller.
Daphne hath broke her barke, and that swift foot,
Which th'angry Gods had fastned with a root
To the fixt earth, doth now unfetter'd run,
To meet th'embraces of the youthfull Sun:
She hangs upon him, like his Delphique Lyre,
Her kisses blow the old, and breath new fire:
Full of her God, she sings inspired Layes,
Sweet Odes of love, such as deserve the Bayes,
Which she her selfe was. Next her, Laura lyes
In Petrarchs learned armes, drying those eyes
That did in such sweet smooth-pac'd numbers flow,
As made the world enamour'd of his woe.
These, and ten thousand Beauties more, that dy'de
Slave to the Tyrant, now enlarg'd, deride
His cancell'd lawes, and for their time mispent,
Pay into Loves Exchequer double rent.
    Come then my Celia, wee'le no more forbeare
To taste our joyes, struck with a Pannique feare,
But will depose from his imperious sway
This proud Vsurper and walke free, as they
With necks unyoak'd; nor is it just that Hee
Should fetter your soft sex with Chastitie,
Which Nature made unapt for abstinence;
When yet this false Impostor can dispence
With humane Justice, and with sacred right,
And maugre both their lawes command me fight
With Rivals, or with emulous Loves, that dare
Equall with thine, their Mistresse eyes, or haire:
If thou complaine of wrong, and call my sword
To carve out thy revenge, upon that word
He bids me fight and kill, or else he brands
With markes of infamie my coward hands,
And yet religion bids from blood-shed flye,
And damns me for that Act. Then tell me why
This Goblin Honour which the world adores,
Should make men Atheists, and not women Whores.

I gently touched her hand: she gave
A look that did my soul enslave;
I pressed her rebel lips in vain:
They rose up to be pressed again.
    Thus happy, I no farther meant
    Than to be pleased and innocent.

On her soft breasts my hand I laid,
And a quick, light impression made;
They with a kindly warmth did glow
And swelled, and seemed to over-flow.
    Yet, trust me, I no farther meant,
    Than to be pleased and innocent.

On her eyes my eyes did stay:
O'er her smooth limbs my hands did stray;
Each sense was ravished with delight,
And my soul stood prepared for flight.
    Blame me not if at last I meant
    More to be pleased than innocent.

Young Coridon and Phillis,
Sat in a lovely Grove,
Contriving Crowns of Lillies,
Repeating toys of Love,
    And something else, but what I dare not name;

But as they were a playing,
She ogled so the Swain,
It sav'd her plainly saying,
Let's kiss to ease our pain,
    And something else, but what I dare not name.

A thousand times he kist her,
Laying her on the Green;
But as he further prest her
A pritty Leg wall seen,
    And something else, but what I dare not name.

So many Beauties viewing,
His Ardor still increast,
And greater Joys pursuing,
He wander'd o'er her Breast,
    And something else, but what I dare not name.

A last effort she trying
His Passion to withstand,
Cry'd, but 'twas faintly Crying,
Pray take away your Hand,
    And something else, but what I dare not name.

Young Corydon grown bolder,
The Minutes wou'd improve,
This is the time, he told her
To shew you how I Love,
    And something else, but what I dare not name.

The Nymph seem'd almost dying,
Dissolv'd in amorous Heat,
She kiss'd, and told him sighing,
My Dear, your Love is great,
    And something else, but what I dare not name.

But Phillis did recover,
Much sooner than the Swain,
She blushing ask'd her Lover,
Shall we not kiss again,
    And something else, but what I dare not name.

Thus Love his Revells keeping,
Till Nature at a stand,
From talk they fell to sleeping,
Holding each other's Hand,
    And something else, but what I dare not name.

Have ye beheld (with much delight)
A red-Rose peeping through a white?
Or else a Cherrie (double grac't)
Within a Lillies Center plac't?
Or ever mark't the pretty beam,
A Strawberry shewes halfe drown'd in Creame?
Or seen rich Rubies blushing through
A pure smooth Pearle, and Orient too?
So like to this, nay all the rest,
Is each neate Niplet of her breast.

Her for a mistress would I fain enjoy
That hangs out lip and pouts at every toy;
Speaks like a wag, is bold, dares stoutly stand,
And bids love welcome with a wanton hand:
If she be modest wise and chaste of life,
Hang her she's good for nothing but a wife.

No, no; for my Virginity,
    When I lose that, says ROSE, I'll dye:
Behind the Elmes, last Night, cry'd DICK,
    ROSE, were You not extreamly Sick?

Cloe's the wonder of her sex;
    'Tis well her heart is tender:
How might such killing eyes perplex,
    With virtue to defend her!

But nature, graciously inclined,
    With liberal hand to please us,
Has to her boundless beauty joined
    A boundless bent to ease us.

Faith (wench) I cannot court thy sprightly eyes,
With the base Viall placed betweene my Thighes
I cannot lispe, nor to some Fiddle sing,

I cannot whine in puling Elegies,
Intombing Cupid with sad obsequies.
I am not fashioned for these amorous times,
To court thy beutie with lascivious rimes.

I cannot dally, caper, daunce and sing,

Beauty, since you so much desire
To know the place of Cupids fire:
About you somewhere doth it rest,
Yet never harbour'd in your brest,
Nor gout-like in your heele or toe;
What foole would seeke Loves flame so low?
But a little higher, but a little higher,
There, there, o there lyes Cupids fire.

Thinke not, when Cupid most you scorne,
Men judge that you of Ice were borne;
For, though you cast love at your heele,
His fury yet sometime you feele;
And where-abouts if you would know,
I tell you still, not in your toe:
But a little higher, but a little higher,
There, there, o there lyes Cupids fire.

    Whoe euer loues, if hee doe not propose
The right true end of loue; Hee's one which goes
To sea, for nothing, but to make him sick.
And Loue is a Bear-whelp borne; if wee ouer-lick
Our Loue, and force it newe strange shapes to take
Wee erre, and of a lumpe a Monster make.
Were not a Calfe a Monster, that were growne
Fac'd like a man, though better then his owne?
Perfection is in Vnity: Preferre
One woman first, and then one thing in her.
I, when I valewe gold, may thinke vpon
The Ductilness, the'Application,
The wholesomness, the Ingenuity,
From Rust, from soyle, from fire euer free.
But if I loue it, t'is because t'is made
By our newe Nature, vse, the soule of trade.
All these in Women wee might think vpon
(Yf women had them) but yet loue but one.
Can Men more iniure women, then to say
They loue them for that, by which they are not they?
Makes virtue woman? must I coole my bloud
Till I both bee, and finde one wise, and good?
May barren Angells loue soe: But if wee
Make loue to woman, Virtue is not shee,
As Beautie'is not, nor Wealth: Hee that strayes thus
From her to hers, is more Adulterous
Then if hee tooke her maide. Search euery sphere
And firmament, our Cupid is not there:
Hee's an infernall God, and vnder ground
With Pluto dwells, where gold, and fire abound.
Men to such Gods, their sacrificeing coales
Did not in Alters laye, but pitts, and hoales.
Although wee see cælestiall bodies moue
Aboue the earth, the earth wee till, and loue:
Soe wee her Aires contemplate, words, and Hart
And virtues; But wee loue the Centrique part.
Nor is the Soule more worthy, or more fitt
For loue, then this, as infinite as it.
But in attaining this desired place
Howe much they stray, that sett out at the face.
The haire a forrest is of Ambushes
Of springs, snares, fetters, and Manacles.
The Browe becalmes vs, when t'is smooth, and plaine
And when t'is wrinckled shipwracks vs againe;
Smooth, t'is a Paradise, where wee would haue
Immortall stay, and wrinckled, tis our Graue.
The Nose, like to the first Meridian runns
Not twixt an East, and West, but twixt two Sunns;
It leaues a Cheeke, a rosie Hemisphere
On either side, and then directs vs, where
Vppon the Ilands Fortunate wee fall
(Not faint Canarye, but Ambrosiall)
Her swelling lipps, To which when wee are come
Wee anchor there, and think our selues at home:
For they seeme all: There Syrens songs, and there
Wise Delphique Oracles doe fill the eare.
There in a Creeke, where chosen Pearles doe swell,
The Remora, her cleving tongue doth dwell.
These and the glorious Promontorie, her Chinn
Or'epast; And the straight Hellespont, betweene
The Sestos, and Abydos of her Breasts,
Not of twoe Louers, but two loues the neasts,
Succeeds a boundles Sea; but that thine eye
Some Iland moles may scatte'red there descrie:
And sayling towards her India in that way
Shall at her faire Atlantique Nauell stay.
Though thence the Currant bee thy Pilot made
Yet ere thou bee, where thou would'st bee embay'ed,
Thou shalt vpon another forrest sett,
Where some doe shipwrack, and noe further gett.
When thou art there, consider what this Chace
Mispent by thy beginning at the face;
Rather sett out belowe; Practise my Arte,
Some simmetrie the foote hath with that Part
Which thou dost seeke, and is thy Mapp for that,
Louely enough to stopp, but not stay att.
Least subiect to disguise, and chaunge it is,
Men say the Deuill neuer can chaunge his.
It is the Embleme, which hath figured
Firmness; t'is the first part that comes to bed.
Ciuility, wee see, refin'de the kisse,
Which, at the face begun, transplanted is
Since to the hand, since to th'imperiall knee
Nowe at the Papall foote delights to bee.
If Kings think that the nearer way, and doe
Rise from the foot, louers may doe soe too.
For as free spheres moue faster farr then can
Birds, whom the Aire resists, soe may that man
Which goes this Empty, and Æthereall way,
Then if at Beauties elements hee staye.
Rich Nature hath in woman wisely made
Twoe Pursses, and their mouthes aversly laid
They then which to the lower tribute owe
That way, which that Exchequer lookes, must goe;
Hee which doth not, his Error is as great
As whoe by Clister gaue the stomack meate.

I care not for these Ladies
That must be woode and praide,
Give me kind Amarillis
The wanton countrey maide;
Nature art disdaineth,
Her beautie is her owne;
        Her when we court and kisse,
        She cries, forsooth, let go:
        But when we come where comfort is,
        She never will say no.

If I love Amarillis,
She gives me fruit and flowers,
But if we love these Ladies,
We must give golden showers;
Give them gold that sell love,
Give me the Nutbrowne lasse,
        Who when we court and kisse,
        She cries, forsooth, let go:
        But when we come where comfort is,
        She never will say no.

These Ladies must have pillowes,
And beds by strangers wrought,
Give me a Bower of willowes,
Of mosse and leaves unbought,
And fresh Amarillis,
With milke and honie fed,
        Who when we court and kisse,
        She cries, forsooth, let go:
        But when we come where comfort is,
        She never will say no.

My Love in her attire doth show her wit,
    It doth so well become her;
For every season she hath dressings fit,
    For Winter, Spring, and Summer.
No beauty she doth miss
    When all her robes are on:
But Beauty's self she is
    When all her robes are gone.

A sweet disorder in the dresse
Kindles in cloathes a wantonnesse:
A Lawne about the shoulders thrown
Into a fine distraction:
An erring Lace, which here and there
Enthralls the Crimson Stomacher:
A Cuffe neglectfull, and thereby
Ribbands to flow confusedly:
A winning wave (deserving Note)
In the tempestuous petticote:
A carelesse shooe-string, in whose tye
I see a wilde civility:
Doe more bewitch me, then when Art
Is too precise in every part.

Still to be neat, still to be drest,
As, you were going to a feast;
Still to be pou'dred, still perfum'd:
Lady, it is to be presum'd,
Though arts hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.

Giue me a looke, giue me a face,
That makes simplicitie a grace;
Robes loosely flowing, haire as free:
Such sweet neglect more taketh me,
Then all th'adulteries of art.
They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.

Two or Three Visits, and Two or Three Bows,
Two or Three civil Things, Two or Three Vows,
Two or Three Kisses, with Two or Three Sighs,
Two or Three Jesus's — and let me dyes —
Two or Three Squeezes, and Two or Three Towses,
With Two or Three thousand Pound lost at their Houses,
Can never fail Cuckolding Two or Three Spouses.

Pious Selinda goes to Pray'rs,
    If I but ask the Favour;
And yet the tender Fool's in Tears,
    When she believes I'll leave her.

Wou'd I were free from this Restraint,
    Or else had Hopes to win her;
Wou'd she cou'd make of me a Saint,
    Or I of her a Sinner.