Classic Poem

Behold these woods, and mark my Sweet
How all the boughes together meet!
The Cedar his fair arms displayes,
And mixes branches with the Bayes .
The lofty Pine deignes to descend,
And sturdy Oaks doe gently bend.
One with another subt'ly weaves
Into one loom their various leaves;
As all ambitious were to be
Mine and my Phyllis canopie!
Let's enter, and discourse our Loves;
These are, my Dear, no tell-tale groves!
There dwell no Pyes, nor Parrats there,
To prate again the words they heare,
Nor babling Eccho, that will tell
The neighbouring hills one syllable.
Being enter'd let's together lye,
Twin'd like the Zodiaks Gemini!
How soon the flowres doe sweeter smell:
And all with emulation swell,
To be thy pillow? These for thee
Were meant a bed, and thou for me,
And I may with as just esteem
Presse thee, as thou maist lye on them.
And why so coy? What dost thou feare?
There lurks no speckled Serpent here.
No Venomous snake makes this his rode,
No Canker, nor the loathsome toad.
And yon poor spider on the tree,
Thy spinster will, no poisner be.
There is no Frog to leap, and fright
Thee from my arms, and break delight;
Nor snail that o're thy coat shall trace,
And leave behind a slimy lace.
This is the hallowed shrine of Love,
No wasp nor hornet haunts this grove,
Nor pismire to make pimples rise,
Upon thy smooth and ivory thighes.
No danger in these shades doth lye,
Nothing that wears a sting, but I:
And in it doth no venome dwell,
Although perchance it make thee swell.
Being set, let's sport a while, my Fair,
I will tye Love knots in thy haire.
See Zephyrus through the leaves doth stray,
And has free liberty to play;
And braids thy locks: And shall I find
Lesse favour then a saucy wind?
Now let me sit, and fix my eyes,
On thee that art my Paradise.
Thou art my all; the spring remains
In the fair violets of thy veins:
And that it is a summers day,
Ripe Cherries in thy lips display.
And when for Autumn I would seek,
'Tis in the Apples of thy cheek.
But that which only moves my smart,
Is to see winter in thy heart.
Strange, when at once in one appear
All the four seasons of the year!
I'le clasp that neck where should be set
A rich and Orient Carkanet;
But swains are poor, admit of then
More naturall chains, the arms of men.
Come let me touch those brests, that swell
Like two fair mountains, and may well
Be stil'd the Alpes , but that I feare
The snow has lesse of whiteness there.
But stay (my Love) a fault I spy,
Why are these two fair fountains dry,
Which if they run, no Muse would please
To tast of any spring but these.
And Ganymed employ'd should bee
To fetch his Jove Nectar from thee.
Thou shalt be nurse fair Venus swears,
To the next Cupid that she bears,
Were it not then discreetly done
To ope one spring to let two runne?
Fy, fy, this Belly, Beauty's mint,
Blushes to see no coyn stampt in't.
Employ it then, for though it be
Our wealth, it is your royaltie;
And beauty will have currant grace
That bears the Image of your face.
How to the touch the Ivory thighes
Veil gently, and again doe rise,
As pliable to impression,
As Virgins waxe, or Parian stone
Dissolv'd to softnesse, plump and full,
More white and soft then Cotsall wooll ;
Or Cotten from the Indian Tree,
Or pretty silkworms huswifrie.
These on two marble pillars rais'd
Make me in doubt which should be praisd;
They, or their Columnes most; but when
I veiw those feet which I have seen
So nimbly trip it o're the Lawns
That all the Satyrs and the fawns
Have stood amaz'd, when they would passe
Over the leyes, and not a grasse
Would feel the weight, nor rush, nor bent
Drooping betray which way you went.
O then I felt my hot desires
Burn more; and flame with double fires.
Come let those thighes, those legs, those feet
With mine in thousand windings meet,
And woven in more subtle twines
Then woodbine, Ivy, or the vines.
For when Love sees us circling thus
He'le like no Arbour more then us.
Now let us kisse, would you be gone?
Manners at least allows me one.
Blush you at this, pretty one stay,
And I will take that kisse away
Thus with a second, and that too
A third wipes of, so will we goe
To numbers that the starrs out run,
And all the Atoms in the Sun.
For though we kisse till Phaebus ray
Sink in the seas, and kissing stay
Till his bright beams return again,
There can of all but one remain:
And if for one good manners call,
In one good manners grant me all.
Are kisses all? they but forerun
Another duty to be done.
What would you of that minstrell say
That tunes his pipes and will not play?
Say what are blossoms in their prime,
That ripen not in harvest time?
Or what are buds that ne're disclose
The long'd for sweetnesse of the rose?
So kisses to a Lover's guest
Are invitations not the feast.
See every thing that we espy
Is fruitfull, saving you and I:
Veiw all the feilds, survey the bowers,
The buds, the blossoms and the flowers;
And say if they so rich could be
In barren base Virginitie.
Earth's not so coy as you are now,
But willingly admits the plow.
For how had man or beast been fed,
If she had kept her maiden head?
Caelia once coy as are the rest
Hangs now a babe on either brest;
And Chloris since a man she took,
Has lesse of greennesse in her look.
Our ewes have ean'd, and every damme
Gives suck unto her tender Lambe.
As by these groves we walk'd along,
Some Birds were feeding of their young,
Some on their eggs did brooding sit,
Sad that they had not hatch'd them yet.
Those that were slower then the rest,
Were busy building of their nest.
You will not only pay the fine,
You vow'd and ow'd to Valentine .
As you were angling in the brook
With silken line and silver hook,
Through Christall streams you might descry
How vast and numberlesse a fry
The fish had spawn'd, that all along
The banks were crowded with the throng.
And shall fair Venus more command
By water then she does by land?
The Phaenix chast yet when she dyes,
Her self with her own ashes, lyes.
But let thy Love more wisely thrive
To doe the act while th' art alive.
'Tis time we left our childish Love
That trades for toyes, and now approve
Our abler skill; they are not wise
Look Babies only in the eyes.
That smooth red smile shews what you meant,
And modest silence gives consent.
That which we now prepare, will bee
Best done in silent secresie.
Come doe not weep, what is't you feare?
Least some should know what we did here.
See not a flowre you prest is dead
But re-erects his bended head;
That who soe're shall passe this way
Knows not by these where Phyllis lay.
And in your forehead there is none
Can read the act that we have done.

Phyllis.

Poore credulous and simple maid!
By what strange wiles art thou betraid!
A treasure thou hast lost to day
For which thou canst no ransome pay.
How black art thou transform'd with sin!
How strange a guilt gnaws me within!
Greif will convert this red to pale;
When every Wake, and Whitsund-ale
Shall talk my shame; break, break sad heart
There is no Medicine for my smart,
No hearb nor balm can cure my sorrow,
Unlesse you meet again to morrow.