Classic Poem

I hate Fruition, now 'tis past,
'Tis all but nastiness at best;
The homeliest thing, that man can do,
Besides, 'tis short and fleeting too:
A squirt of slippery Delight,
That with a moment takes its flight:
A fulsom Bliss, that soon does cloy,
And makes us loath what we enjoy.
Then let us not too eager run,
By Passion blindly hurried on,
Like Beasts, who nothing better know,
Than what meer Lust incites them to:
For when in Floods of Love we're drench'd,
The Flames are by enjoyment quench'd:
But thus, let's thus together lie,
And kiss out long Eternity:
Here we dread no conscious spies,
No blushes stain our guiltless Joys:
Here no Faintness dulls Desires,
And Pleasure never flags, nor tires:
This has pleas'd, and pleases now,
And for Ages will do so:
Enjoyment here is never done,
But fresh, and always but begun.