Between Your Sheets

Between your sheets you soundly sleep
Nor dream of Vigils that we Lovers keep
While all the night, I waking sigh your name,
The tender sound does every nerve inflame,
Imagination shews me all your charms,
The plenteous silken hair, and waxen Arms,
The well turn'd neck, and snowy rising breast
And all the Beauties that supinely rest
between your sheets.

Ah Lindamira, could you see my Heart,
How fond, how true, how free from fraudfull Art,
The warmest glances poorly doe explain
The eager wish, the melting throbbing pain
Which through my very blood and soul I feel,
Which you cannot beleive nor I reveal,
Which every Metaphor must render less
And yet (methinks) which I could well express
between your sheets.
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