Classic Poem

How perfect Cloris, and how free
Would these enjoyments prouve,
But you with formall jealousy
Are still tormenting Love.

Lett us (since witt instructs us how)
Raise pleasure to the topp,
If Rivall bottle you'l allow
I'le suffer rivall fopp.

Ther's not a brisk insipid sparke
That flutter in the Towne
But with your wanton eyes you marke
Him out to be your owne.

You never thinke it worth your care
How empty nor how dull
The heads of your admirers are
Soe that their backs bee full.

All this you freely may confess
Yett wee'l not disagree
For did you love you pleasures less
You were not fitt for mee.

Whilst I my passion to persue
Am whole nights taking in
The Lusty juice of grapes, take you
The juice of Lusty Men —

Upraide mee not that I designe
Tricks to delude your charmes
When running after mirth and wine
I leave your Longing Armes.

For wine (whose power alone can raise
Our thoughts soe farr above)
Affords Idea's fitt to praise
What wee thinke fitt to Love.