Classic Poem

I.

Come, Chloris , to Aminta 's breast retire;
Let thy soft sorrow's sympathetic dew,
Shed its damp influence on love's smoaky fire,
In both our bosoms, the same end pursue,
And both, at once, with purer flames inspire.
Let it, miraculously strong, this double wonder do!
At once, quench love , and light up friendship , too.
Since tender passions prove too weak,
To lift thy sinking hope;
And ev'n thy downy nature cannot break
That stubborn flint, which binds, with narrow scope,
Philander 's rocky heart.
Bid thy ill-entertain'd, unwelcom'd guest, depart,
And do not own the wound, at least, tho' still thou feel'st the smart.
Beauty must blush with burning shame,
To see the frozen salamander lie,
Insensible of heat, amidst such flame,
And all love's penetrating fires defy:
See, with disdain, how cool he fits, and slights thy proffer'd charms,
Nor offers, once, to stretch his icy arms.

II.

Come to my softer grasp, thou lovely maid!
Too innocent, to hope for fortune's aid!
And too, too sweet, to be betray'd!
Come, Chloris! to Aminta 's close embrace,
Her breast will take thee in, and give thee space!
There thou, and only thou, can'st claim a place.
I'll clasp thee fast, and, if I cannot please,
Thy every wish, to give thee perfect ease,
I'll labour, slow, by safe degrees,
To crown as many, as I can:
For I am not that able ill , that undertaker, man!
Yet, if I fail, like man, throughout to please,
This, Chloris , let me urge, in recompence;
Ruin might flow, from man , in vows, like these, Mine carry innocence.

III.

Fly, careless, kind, unwary wantons, fly!
When man, the smiling mischief, man! comes nigh,
He, the envenom'd viper, bites our poison-trifling sex;
While they, with fancy's tickling twigs, seek all the time to vex,
And think, vain fools! they him perplex!
How do the skill'd deceivers put on pain!
How feelingly they feign!
How do they tempt, swear, promise, plead, and pray?
How do they melt, in soft-dissembled grief?
'Till air-built vows our yielding hearts betray,
And pity gives us up to vain relief:
Then, smiles the wretch, at what his arts have done,
Proud of the conquest, though so basely won.

IV.

Despise we, then, all hopes, so false, as these,
Fruitful prospects most should please:
High-flooding joys, which come, without degrees,
Like summer torrents, rise o'er hills and trees;
But, swiftly sweeping back again, bear, with 'em, all our ease.
Give me the cooler wint'ry flood,
Which, not so pleasant, does more good;
Rises gently, makes long stay,
And when, at last, it creeps away,
Enriches all the soil, it leaves, with fertilizing mud.
Come, then, Chloris! fill my arms!
There, taste passion, void of harms!
And, oh! if female grasps insipid seem,
To you, who of more solid raptures dream,
Think, and thinking, you'll be wife,
And back departed judgment bring:
The noisy bee , that, humming, flies,
And boasts what honey he supplies,
Says nothing, of his sting .