A Faire Nimph scorning a Black Boy Courting her

Stand off, and let me take the aire,
Why should the smoak pursue the faire? Boy .
My face is smoak, thence may be guest
What flames within have scorch'd my brest. Nymph .
The flame of love I cannot view,
For the dark Lanthorne of thy hue. Boy .
And yet this Lanthorne keeps loves Taper
Surer then yours, that's of white paper.
Whatever Midnight hath been here,
The Moon-shine of your face can cleare. Nymph .
My Moon of an Ecclipse is 'fraid,
If thou should'st interpose thy shade. Boy .
Yet one thing (sweet-heart) I will ask,
Take me for a new fashion'd Mask. Nymph .
Done: but my bargaine shall be this,
I'le throw my Maske off when I kiss. Boy .
Our curl'd embraces shall delight
To checquer limbs with black and white. Nymph .
Thy inke, my paper, make me guesse,
Our Nuptiall bed will prove a Presse;
And in our sports, if any come,
They'l read a wanton Epigram. Boy .
Why should my Black thy love impaire?
Let the darke shop commend the ware:
Or if thy love from black forbeares,
I'le strive to wash it of with teares. Nymph .
Spare fruitless teares, since thou must needs
Still weare about thee mourning weeds:
Teares can no more affection win,
Then wash thy Æthiopian skin.
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